Love Runs Out
by ms-citizenshiptest
Summary: Tony DiNozzo finds meeting his best friend's new girlfriend is anything but easy - AU.
1. Chapter 1

**You got me, got me like this…**

They lasted about three and a half hours going through potential evidence when the boss man sent them back to the Navy Yard to collect their things. _You can write up the reports and search for new leads on Monday_, he had told them as he made his leave. Tony DiNozzo had not heard an order as wonderful as that one since he'd left Baltimore and started working for Gibbs years ago. He almost danced for joy as he made his way out of the run down apartment and toward their government plated vehicle sitting out front. "You seem eager," McGee noted as he stopped in front of the passenger side. He had no doubt that Tony had his mind set on driving – speeding, rather, away as quickly as possible.

A sigh of relief fell from Tony's lips before he mustered enough energy to get his probationary companion the full details of his Friday night ahead. Sliding into the driver's seat, he buckled his seatbelt and wrapped his fingers around the steering wheel comfortably after starting the engine. "Got a date tonight," he told him proudly. Though it wasn't necessarily the entire truth. Tony's childhood friend, Christopher Wilson, finally had a free night in his schedule to play catch up over a mouth-watering meal. To be honest, he had no idea that an investment banker's life could be so demanding – especially in comparison to his own. Not that he was bragging – well, to hell with it – he was definitely bragging. He was a federal agent and he prided himself in that. He chased and caught the bad guys. He was Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo. Though realistically speaking – he found himself in over his head with a mountain of paperwork more often than chasing a suspect down an alley way.

A raise of the eyebrow from McGee was an invitation for him to clarify, "A man date," he smirked to himself. He had no problem admitting his bromance with Chris. They had known each other for as long as he could remember. They grew up together, played together, and got in trouble together. Ironically enough, they even ended up at the same boarding school. That ended better for them than it did for the school entirely. They were practically brothers, so having a massive disconnect was putting a negative spin on their friendship. "Chris finally had some time free up so we're meeting up at Marcel's for dinner."

"Huh," the younger agent mused. "That's pricey – even for you."

The Italian let out a light laugh, nodding his head in agreement. Though their food was extraordinary, he wouldn't be able to keep up his lifestyle if he dropped money like that too often. Even being Gibbs' loyal St. Bernard, the finances weren't coming in like he had always expected them to. A federal agent's salary wasn't the biggest in the world, especially considering living in Washington, D.C. and entertaining as many women as he did. "Lucky for me, he's paying." A big grin crept onto his face, features full of satisfaction just thinking about the five course dinner awaiting his arrival. "Said he had some news or something," Tony continued as he made a left turn and stepped on the brake to come to a smooth stop at the red light ahead. "Probably found some new arm candy," a light shrug. "It's always a new girlfriend – blonde, definitely taller than "5'7", usually an aspiring model."

McGee shook his head in response, watching as the city moved behind them while they drove through at a swift pace toward the Navy Yard. "Sounds about your type," he glanced at him.

DiNozzo scuffed dramatically enough to showcase his fake disagreement on the subject. "They're not all my type, McGee. You know, just the really hot ones." Tony had seen Chris bring so many girls around that he'd lost count over the years that they'd known each other – sports games, banquets, family functions, funerals. He was a part of the DiNozzo family and they always welcomed him, and his girlfriends at-the-time, with open arms. Chris usually showed up Tony more often than not, something his co-workers had no idea about. He was the real ladies man in their circle if numbers had anything to do with it.

"Could you be any more vain?" Tim held up a hand after unbuckling his own seat belt and pushing the door open. They had made it into the Navy Yard in record time. "Wait, don't answer that. I think the entire Navy Yard knows the answer to that."

Standing on opposite sides, the two men reached into the backseat to retrieve their backpacks before locking the car up and approaching the elevator. Hot showers and a change of clothes awaited them after their horrid evidence excavation trip. They smelled of so many things that neither of them could have pin pointed what was what. Considering how long they had been doing the job, you'd think no odor could overwhelm them but this was the day that Tony DiNozzo and Timothy McGee were wrong.

Tony moved into the elevator with the probie behind him, trying to breathe through his mouth instead of his nose as much as possible. The stench was just too much to bear. Before the elevator door closed, he managed to swing his hand over his shoulder just in time to lock the car. It made a beeping sound and Tony smiled in reassurance. "I'm not vain, you know," he told him as he stepped out to head to the locker room. McGee had decided to work on his paperwork before hitting the showers so they were parting ways indefinitely.

McGee, standing with his head and back against the cool elevator wall, opened his eyes just enough to see the self-defending Italian in front of him. His arms were crossed over his chest, keeping himself busy enough to not focus on the aroma of his clothing. "Have a nice weekend, Tony." He was too exhausted, and somewhat disgusted with his current state of dress, to validate Tony's ego for him. "And don't take his girlfriend home." Surprisingly, Tony did not retaliate. Instead, he turned on his heels with a quick nod and headed for the hot stream of water and cucumber scented soap that was calling his name.

"You too, McGee." His wishes quickly dissipated in the emptiness of the bright orange hallway.

* * *

><p>She hadn't been in the country for long, but a stable job with the Department of Defense helped. Ziva David embraced American living as soon as her plane landed from Tel Aviv, Israel almost a year ago. The job, the apartment, <em>the man. <em>They hadn't been dating for too long – she and Christopher – but she went into the relationship without her usual expectations. It was a drastic change for her and so far it had been working. Now a few months in, he was coming around to the idea of her meeting some important people in his life. Ziva didn't push him, the thought of things getting more serious between them scared her if she were completely honest. It was had always been about the job for her, about maintaining loyalty to her country. But things were different now. Everything was different now, and she convinced herself that leaving her old life behind and moving on to something new – someone new – was the right approach.

As the day at the office quickly came around to an end, Ziva's nervousness continued to eat at her. She was not one for the friends and family meet-and-greet, so the idea of agreeing to it was unbelievable. She shuffled through some of the files and loose papers on her desk, trying to think up of an excuse to stay longer but nothing came to mind. Her reports were finished, there were no incoming calls, and all that was left to do was change for this dinner that Christopher had planned for weeks now. "You're still here?" A familiar voice questioned.

Ziva's eyes rose to meet the flirty young woman in front of her. Claire was fairly new in the department, but Ziva took a liking to her. She had to since she was the one training her anyway. Claire was different – she was carefree, welcoming and excited. She was everything that Ziva wouldn't describe herself as. Considering whether to be professional or ignore her existence, the Israeli took the former route and attempted something she would have never considered doing if she were still at Mossad. She decided to be her friend. "Uh, yes." She laughed dryly, anxiously pulling at the ends of her curls that she had loosely styled that same morning.

"Everything will be fine, Ziva!" There was that high pitched voice again. "It's just dinner, honestly."

"With his best friend."

"With his best friend," Claire confirmed. "And he's going to love you. What are you wearing?" She asked eagerly, trying to reroute from the initially dreaded subject. Ziva had mentioned the dinner plans earlier in the week and her lack of excitement couldn't have been any more obvious.

A sigh escaped her and she ran her tongue over her teeth, almost deciding to make up a reason she couldn't make it. Christopher would've enjoyed some time to catch up with his best friend – practically his brother. "A dress with a black blazer. It is a little chilly out so I decided a pair of boots before I left my apartment this morning." Ziva pushed the bag with the items toward Claire with her left foot. Ecstatic was not a face Ziva David wore often. She watched as Claire pulled the dress out of the bag and to her small frame to imagine what it might look like.

"You're going to look amazing, Ziva. I can't wait to hear about it on Monday," she told her before they exchanged a soft smile. "Now go, you're going to be late. And no one should be late to a five-course dinner at Marcel's. It's phenomenal!"

* * *

><p>Being on time – that was not a concept that Christopher Wilson had mastered over the years. Though he made his plans with Tony far in advance, that didn't stop his schedule from accumulating a number of business trips that were vital to their business. His phone kept ringing with reminders about the dinner as the reservation time approached, but he had just been able to get off of his plane from Boston when he noticed them. Christopher's groan caught a few people's attention who turned around to glare at him for his ill manners. He muttered a quick apology before rushing through the crowd and making his way to the escalator down to the arriving flight baggage claims.<p>

Phone still in hand, he thought it best to let Tony he was running a little behind schedule. Naturally, it would have probably been a better idea to let Ziva know first but he wouldn't be Christopher Wilson if he didn't make a few obvious mistakes. "DiNozzo!" He let out a sigh of relief hearing his hotshot federal agent brother from another mother answer the phone. Tony didn't sound like his usual self though. Instead, it sounded like he was in the middle of handling a small problem. "What's up? You forget how to tie a tie properly?"

"Ha…ha," the Italian quickly retorted. "I'll have you know that – well – as a matter of fact, I haven't had to dress this James Bond to a dinner in a while so my tie tying skills are not as great as they used to be." He listened to Chris snicker into the phone, hearing the crowded chatter in the background. "Where are you?"

"Uh. Funny story, man." Tony could only roll his eyes in response as he pressed the screen and put the call on speaker. Putting the phone down, he brought his hands back up to his collar and unrelenting tie that had not given up the battle yet. The locker room was empty so he didn't have to feel as lousy as he probably should have. "I'm running a little late. My flight got in a little later than I thought it would, and you know how much of a hassle it is to get through Dulles and into the city."

"Right," Tony listened as he continued to struggle with his suit. "This'll have to do," he whispered quietly to himself before putting his attention back on the call. "You tell _your surprise_ you're running late?"

Christopher scoffed and Tony practically imagined it happening. He was known for his obnoxious facial expressions almost more than Tony was himself. "What makes you think that the surprise is a girl?"

"I never said it was a girl."

"Well," Chris paused – scrambling. "I'm going to call her right now. And I'll be there as soon as I can; I really want you to meet her. I think she's the one, Tony." He watched as the baggage carousel brought various different suitcases around as he waited for his. He was slightly jet lagged and didn't smell all too fresh, but he couldn't wait to see Ziva. "Drinks are on me if I run super late, alright?" Chris didn't wait for him to respond and hung up, pushing his phone into his pocket and focusing on finding his luggage. It never helped that his belongings were black. Everyone's always looked the same.

* * *

><p>Ziva felt her phone vibrate in her blazer pocket when she got to her red mini cooper in the parking lot. Her neutral expression immediately softened when her eyes registered over the caller ID. The straight line that her lips had often maintained curled into a small smile when she brought the phone to her ear and heard his voice. "Hi, sweetheart." He, for some reason, never let her say hello first.<p>

"Hello, Christopher." Ziva leaned against her driver's side window, one arm wrapped around herself while her eyes focused on the tall black leather boots that she was happy to see perfectly complimented her wardrobe choice for the evening. "I am about to leave for the restaurant…." She paused and he listened to her teeth quietly chattering. "But I am sure you would like to have dinner with your friend alone, yes? I would completely understand," she offered a little too eagerly.

She listened to him laugh and the smile on her features spread. "You are the entire reason I'm having dinner with DiNozzo tonight. You're an important part of my life, and I want him to meet you."

Ziva twisted a finger through a couple of her curls as she listened to him. Clearly her methods of persuasion on the matter had not worked for the last two weeks so they weren't going to work now. "That is a lot of pressure," she finally confessed.

"Did you just admit weakness? Wait - let me write this down. What time is it?" Christopher shuffled around in his pockets for a scrap of paper and pen. "This is a monumental moment in our relationship."

She pushed away from her leaning position and opened her car door in response to his mocking. "You are hilarious," Ziva replied with a significant roll of the eyes. "You owe me a drink and I am feeling like several." They both had a habit of hanging up before the other was finished. After buckling her seatbelt, Ziva tossed her cell phone into the passenger seat and pulled out of her parking spot. He never did tell her that he was running late.

* * *

><p>The drive wasn't a long one. Ziva managed to get there in a matter of about twenty minutes and stopped in line for the valet. Her fingers tapped nervously against the steering wheel as she watched the cars move along one by one and the occupants exit into the street and into the restaurant. The closer she got, the more anxious she became and it was then that she remembered how ridiculous this was. She had been through so much in her life already: all the ups and downs with her family, her early career with Mossad, and making the decision to start over in a different country. This was not even on the scale of hardships that she managed to live through. It was petty.<p>

Taking a deep breath, Ziva pulled herself together and climbed out of her car after collecting her cell phone from the seat beside her. Securing it in her blazer, she pulled the fabric closer around her as she made it over the curb in the cool fall night. The light wind blew her blow-dried curls away from her face and she embraced its pressure.

She noted how beautiful the interior of the restaurant was as she approached the hostess. There were several parties of people waiting, but she assumed that the reservation Christopher made would get them through in no time. Ziva smiled faintly when she was quickly greeted with a young woman behind a desk with a computer. "Good evening, how may I help you?"

Ziva glanced around the restaurant with the conclusion that Christopher had not made it yet. "Christopher Wilson, party of three." She patiently waited as the hostess looked up the name and turned back to her with a confirmation.

"I'm sorry, but Mr. Wilson has not checked in yet."

She nodded in response, lowering her arms from around her frame and embracing the restaurant's well heated waiting area. "That is fine. I can wait at the table," Ziva offered with faint annoyance. She was a little cold and hungry, so this was not the best opportunity for Christopher to be late. She also didn't want to be sitting at the table alone, waiting for a stranger that she had been stressing about meeting for the last two weeks. How could he have not told her that he was running late?

"I'm sorry, but all members of your party must be present for you to be seated."

Ziva narrowed her eyes at her, startling the woman slightly. "But we have a reservation."

"All members of your party must be present, Miss. I apologize, but there is space at the bar if you'd like a drink while you wait." To that she received a silent but open-mouthed response from the Israeli before she collected herself enough to walk away without an argument. The hostess heard a faint, "unbelievable," before turning to the other incoming dinner guests.

Just as the young woman promised, the bar was fairly empty and offered several comfortable stools. Ziva took the one closest to the door, her back to the entrance and took the opportunity to order her first drink of the night – Christopher was paying, she decided. The bar tender slid her the first cocktail and Ziva thanked him with a quick nod of the head as she took to crushing the lime at the bottom of the glass. Her brown settled on the contents as she watched the mint swirl in circles instead of thinking about how in need of a proper meal she was.

Tony dropped his car off at the valet about ten minutes after Ziva. He took the longer route, knowing that Christopher was running late. He assumed he'd have arrived by now, but instead was met with the same announcement from the hostess. "I'm sorry, but Mr. Wilson has not arrived yet and all members of your parties must be present to be seated."

Tony flashed her his most DiNozzo of smiles and leaned forward against the table. "Listen, _Samantha_," he glanced down at her nametag and then continued. "I've been at work all day and my friend is running late. I'd really appreciate if you made an exception. Just this once?" He pleaded with his best puppy dog eyes.

He watched as the young woman almost broke, but then regained her composure. "I'm sorry. There is some space at the bar, if you'd like to wait there." Tony sighed and nodded, turning with a huff and approaching the bar area. Although quite irritated, his mood quickly took turn when he settled his eyes on a woman eagerly consuming the cocktail in her grasp. Though her drinking abilities intrigued him, it was the eloquent way she sat on the bar stool that drew him in.

The Italian settled onto the stool beside her, irking no reaction from the Israeli at all. She continued to slurp on the remains of her beverage as her finger swooshed over the touch screen on her phone. She had decided to make most of her time while waiting by going through many of the work e-mails that she had not gotten to yet. There were not enough hours in the day. The Defense Department of the United States never slept – she could vouch for that. "Could I buy you another?" She heard someone ask and raised her head to meet the voice.

Their eyes locked for a moment and she found herself smiling naturally. He was not what she expected to see, but embraced the handsome view all the same. "I do not think that is a good idea," Ziva replied with an apologetic smile before returning back to her device.

He tilted his head, studying the features her fallen curls hid. "Why's that? I'm just a guy at a bar." He waved the waiter down and asked for a scotch on the rocks for himself.

Ziva lifted her eyes to his again, hesitation clear on her face. She swirled the ice cubes and mint in her glass, "I am waiting for someone." She watched him nod as he took a sip of his scotch, sensing his failed attempts were not over yet.

"If I had plans with someone like you, I wouldn't be a second late." That earned him a grin and he sat up a little taller. Ziva let go of her empty glass and turned into him, their knees brushing slightly.

"Do you say that to all the girls?" She smirked, challenging him.

Tony spun his glass before responding and then met her with an even more inviting smile. Ziva fought the light headed feeling it gave her when she looked at him – he was good – and cleared her throat. "Just the pretty ones," he informed.

"I am waiting for someone," Ziva told him again. It was almost more to remind herself then to make him back off, but she'd never admit it. She pulled her phone back into her right pocket and pushed her empty cocktail glass aside while they continued to stare at each other, the challenge before them neither won nor lost. Their staring contest was, however, cut short as Christopher approached the two of them. He sneakily came around behind Ziva and planted a kiss on her cheek that surprised her. Her lips curled into a smile and her cheeks warmed out of the sheer happiness she felt in his arrival.

"I guess the two of you have already met so there's no need for introductions." Grinning, he pulled the Israeli to her feet and wrapped an arm around and she smiled in return. "I missed you so much, Ziva."

Tony stared at the two of them, a little shocked and confused before what had just happened in front of him finally registered in his brain. "Ziva," he let out slowly with a slight narrowing of the eyes at her.

"Tony," she returned with a tight smile. Finally Christopher's ranting about Tony DiNozzo over the course of their relationship came into good use. And this was going to be nothing short of interesting.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

**I hope those who give this piece a chance enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Looking forward to continuing on this AU train. :)**

**Thoughts? All feedback welcome.**


	2. Chapter 2

If Tony DiNozzo had been given a choice of where to be tonight, it would not been at Marcel's for dinner under any circumstances. He tried to make sense of the situation but it was a little too difficult to comprehend at the moment. Unknowingly, Tony had just hit on his best friend's girlfriend who by no means was his type at all. He would've bet a hundred bucks five minutes ago that Christopher wouldn't have gone for someone like Ziva David and yet there they were. One glance from her told him just who she was – she was unpredictable, smart, and able and willing to hold her own in any situation. "I hope you guys haven't been waiting too long," Chris attempted to apologize as Tony and Ziva's concentrated stare broke.

Ziva licked her dry lips, deciding that thinking of something quickly on her feet was the best way to approach the conundrum they found themselves in before the still mysterious man in front of her said something inappropriate. She was able to profile him just by looking at him, unfortunately for Tony. "Not long," her fingers brushed along Christopher's cheek before she settled her hand on his chest. "Tony was just telling me about all the trouble you two got into while at boarding school together."

Christopher smirked over to Tony who returned a half-hearted laugh. Mostly, though, he was shocked at how easily she was able to change the direction of their conversation. "Oh, we can't talk about that without alcohol. Come on, our table should be ready and I can't wait for Tony to tell you some of the crazy things we managed to get away with at school."

Ziva nodded and went ahead to speak to the hostess again, hoping they hadn't lost their reservation yet. Feeling flushed, she took the opportunity to get away from the two of them before something went wrong and Tony had some explaining to do. She considered all the possibilities while in line and none of them ended up in Tony's benefit. The two men watched her go before turning to each other and embracing in a hug and pat on the back. "I told you that she's great," Chris pushed proudly.

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, she's something alright," Tony agreed and scratched his fingers against his cheek somewhat nervously. "Not really your type, you know?" He raised his eyebrows at him curiously.

Christopher admitted defeat with a smile and nod; he was the happiest he'd ever been before and it was evident. "I met her at my favorite coffee place. They accidently messed up our orders and she was running late for work. So I gave her my number to make it up to her and…" He was cut off when an arm snaked its way around him.

"And I even called him back. Worst mistake of my life," Ziva admitted in attempt to break up their conversation as conveniently as she could. "Our table is ready, Christopher." Her eyes guided them over to the hostess in waiting and she pulled him along. "And I am beyond the point of starving."

He went willingly, letting her drag him along past the other awaiting guests with Tony trailing them close behind. "Christopher?" He made a face at him. Only his parents called him that when he'd done something wrong – forgotten his homework, got kicked out of school, or whatever else trouble he managed to get himself in. "You know, only his mother calls him that," Tony told her as they reached their reserved table. It was fit for four so the hostess made sure to get rid of the extra silverware and give them a moment with their menus.

"Your waiter will be right with you." The three of them nodded in thanks and opened their menus.

A moment later Ziva smiled over her menu, her heavy brown eyes fixating on Tony's who hadn't looked away from her yet. She was too captivating. "I think Christopher sounds very…distinguished," she finished and her smile spread with approval. "It has become a habit of mine."

"It's so long, Ziva," Chris pointed out with a slight whine. It was obvious that they'd had this exact conversation many times before. And from what Tony remembered over their twenty plus years of friendship, hearing 'Christopher' was Chris' most dreaded experience of his life. The name, however, seemed to feel so different coming from the exotic beauty's lips. Especially when she gave him one of her threatening glances. She brushed a few curls over her shoulder before lacing her fingers with his and sending a stare his way that always made him forget how to breathe. "I can't argue with her when she looks at me like that. It's her secret weapon, Tony."

Victorious, Ziva turned her attention back to the menu in front of her after smirking lovingly at him. She'd won. Shifting her position, her knees collided with another pair underneath the table that she knew didn't belong to Christopher. And with that their staring contest was on again. His smile turned into a challenging grin while he turned a page of his menu without looking at it. He thought about moving his leg out of the way, but it seemed more entertaining to make her as uncomfortable as he could. In return, her features grew more serious as she absent-mindedly did the same – skipping over the poultry section of the restaurant's selections. So focused, Ziva almost missed when Christopher got up to excuse himself from the table. "I'll be back," he announced and retreated after running his fingers through her soft curls.

The Israeli's smile fainted when she turned her head back to the man in front of her. "What are you drinking?" She grabbed the small alcohol menu standing between them.

"Listen. Ziva –"

"We really do not need to discuss it," she responded with an offer of an easy way out.

Tony sat back with a sigh, "I really didn't know. Chris didn't even tell me what you looked like and you were just sitting there."

"It is fine," she promised calmly though her fingers flipped the pages a little too violently. Engaging in a fight over his flirting habits was probably not the best idea considering where they were. "Chris has told me about your _hobbies._"

Tony leaned in, grabbing the menu from her and setting it down. "Chris is my best friend," he tried explaining again in a whisper. "I would never do anything to jeopardize my friendship with him. We're practically brothers, and you're clearly important to him. He doesn't bring his blonde showgirls to places like this."

Ziva looked from him to the menu and back to the man sitting across from her. She wasn't sure what to respond to first – his friendship with Christopher or the fact that he admitted that Ziva was not the usual girl that he pursued a relationship with. Her mouth went slightly dry before she chose to retreat, "Did you know that your tie is crooked?"

"What?" He furrowed his eyebrows.

Her features lightened slightly then. "It means bent or twisted out of shape, _Tony._"

"I know what it means, _Zee-vah_. Just don't tell…" He lost his train of thought when she pulled the black leather covered menu back into her hold. Her eyes bore so intently into the pages that he thought it would set on fire any moment.

She shook her head before nodding in obvious agreement. "I was not planning on it." Ziva inhaled deeply as a pair of familiar hands came to rest on her shoulders. She drew her head back to look up and offer an innocent smile that Chris saw through immediately. He took a seat beside her, taking her fingers into his hold and playing with them in his lap.

"Not planning to what?"

He met Ziva's confused gaze before she was able to climb her way out of yet another challenging position. "Not planning to pursue any of the new openings at the office," she supplied finally. "I think I am right where I need to be," Ziva added with a nod toward Tony.

Christopher took the opportunity to flaunt just how amazing he thought she was. "Oh, the Defense Secretary isn't going to let go of her any time soon. She probably works more than any of the other people in the office. We'll be…well," he gave Tony an obvious smirk that for the first time made the Italian extremely uncomfortable. "Whatever we're doing, and she's always answering e-mails or editing drafts at all times of the night."

"Christopher," Ziva nudged him in the ribs a little too strongly. She huffed out an embarrassed sigh and pursed her lips together. Her free hand came up to support her head as she snuck an apologetic glance in Tony's direction. The dinner couldn't have gone any more strangely. Luckily for them, the waiter finally made an appearance to bring them their first course of the evening. Ziva smiled at her appreciatively and requested another cocktail, heavy on the Bacardi.

The rest of the dinner was too filled with food to have any deep conversations. It was something Ziva was extremely grateful for, considering how the night had started off. She was initially overwhelmed with meeting his best friend in general, but now it was more than that. Now they had to have dinner and try to get to know each other all the while knowing that Tony attempted to hit on her before realizing she was in fact who Christopher wanted him to meet and get to know. A few courses in Tony and Ziva warmed up to each other and swapped stories about Christopher and the ridiculous situations that he got himself into over the years.

"Alright, DiNozzo. I think you've shared enough horror stories for the evening. I'll be lucky if I still have a girlfriend in the morning," he said between a few chuckles. He fished a credit card out of his pocket and passed it off to the waitress before she had a chance to put the bill onto their table. Business had been going well and he didn't feel bad about spending a lot of money on the two of them – his two favorite people. At the end of the day, he was just grateful that Tony and Ziva seemed to be getting along even if it was at his expense.

"Oh, yes. I have many things to consider," she told Christopher playfully as the three of them rose from their table. Ziva wrapped herself around one of his arms as they proceeded to head toward the valet. "Thank you for dinner," she whispered into his ear before aiming to peck him on the cheek. His turned his head to look down at her when his lips instinctively found hers. She pushed him along in return, nodding her head toward his awaiting car. "Let me know when you get home, yes?"

"Of course," Christopher reassured before stealing another kiss. Before pulling back he whispered an, "I'll call you," and Ziva nodded approvingly. She stepped back with her arms around herself, just like she had upon her arrival as she watched Tony and Christopher say goodbye. They hugged briefly and whispered something to one another that Ziva did not manage to catch despite her attempts and then Chris walked around to the car that the valet had brought up for him.

Ziva waved to him with a tight smile as he got into the car and safely pulled away from the curb. That left her with Tony – something that she had not been looking too forward to. Ziva opened her mouth when Tony's car came around for him, "It was nice to finally meet you." It was the best she could do under the circumstances. She pushed an open hand toward him, the most inviting gesture she had committed to the entire evening since their little secret spat.

Tony nodded and took her hand willingly. "You too. And, again, I'm really sorry. It won't happen again." He shook her hand and for a minute she felt her heart flutter. It was something she had yet to experience with Christopher despite their several months of commitment to each other.

Her cheeks heated slightly before she forced herself to nod in acceptance of his sincere apology. "It won't?" She asked suddenly, the fierce sparkle in her eye burning with strange interest.

"Never say never," Tony mouthed before releasing her hand and coming around to retrieve his keys from the waiting valet. "Tell the Defense Secretary that Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo says hello."

* * *

><p>That night Christopher checked in with Ziva just as he had promised to do. She had just changed for bed when the phone started to vibrate on her recently washed sheets. Sliding her finger across the screen, she accepted the call before comfortably leaning in the bathroom doorway. "You called."<p>

"I just wanted to let you know I'm home," he said and she hummed in return. "You sound exhausted."

Ziva brushed a few stray curls that failed to be confined by the high ponytail that she tied moments ago. "It has been a long week. But I am glad that you are back in town," she replied honestly. Though she usually felt the need to always tell people she was just fine, there was something different about this instance. Ziva finally let herself be fully involved and invested in a relationship, so she assumed the least she could do was be honest with him about her state of mind.

"I'll let you get your beauty rest then," Christopher offer but quickly amended with, "Not that you need it." They both engaged in a minute of laugher and she sighed in relief. It was nice to feel normal. It was nice to be herself, something she couldn't really do in a long time.

"Christopher?"

He listened to the uncertainty in her voice. "Yeah, Ziva?"

She bit her lip, deciding whether or not to ask him what she really was inquiring about. "How do you feel about showgirls?" Tony's comment at dinner was picking at her as the hours passed and she wasn't sure how she should approach the subject.

"What?"

Ziva shook her head to herself absently; this was all silly. "Nevermind. I will – uh – see you this weekend."

"Good night, sweetheart." The call was over.

* * *

><p>The following Monday was spent like many of the others. There was not enough time to get everything done that had accumulated over the course of the weekend and no time to set aside for a proper meal. Ziva took the rare opportunity of silence in the office to cross her arms over her desk, creating a cushion of sorts, and lower her head for a moment of shuteye. It felt too good to be true. Her chest rose and fell several times and she managed to fall into a light sleep before Claire, her cheery work associate, came in to find her.<p>

"Ziva?" Claire whispered coming up behind her. "Ziva?" She said a little louder, putting a hand on her arm to shake her awake. Feeling the sensation, Ziva opened her eyes and jumped back immediately – her letter opener coincidentally in hand. Claire took a step or two back, clearly taken aback by the young Israeli's behavior. It was not something she had expected from the tiny international firecracker. That was the nickname she had been become accustomed to, generously given to her by her co-workers after a time or two of strange incidents and Hebrew rantings.

"You should not do that," she said with a quiet yawn before proceeding to lower the letter opener she had been holding onto quite strongly.

Claire smirked in return, crossing her arms over her chest and offering a sympathetic smile afterward. "Wouldn't want you to kill me with a letter opener, you're right."

"I have killed with much less," The Israeli retorted seriously. The woman in front of her stared at her with a loss of words, not knowing whether to laugh or feel threatened. Ziva didn't give off a 'killer' impression, but little did she know. One of her many skills while at Mossad had been playing the chameleon role in many of her operations – so living a low-key life and working diligently under the Defense Secretary wasn't exactly a hard task. Although the change she presumed she needed, it was not what excited her and pushed her to be better. But it was the lesser of the two evils.

Claire pulled up a chair beside her, finding a comfortable position and crossing her legs. "Well," she pursed her lips in waiting. Ziva raised her eyebrows at her before opening an unworked file that had been on her desk for well over several hours now. "How did the dinner go?" Claire finally drew out.

Ziva shifted her eyes between her computer screen and the open file in front of her, her fingers tangled in the stapled pages. "It was different," she went with that.

"Like – the food was undercooked and Christopher introduced you as his friend, or?" The blonde beside her fished. Ziva was never one to give her any unnecessary information.

Ziva grinned at her before shaking her head in disagreement. "Are all American women so interested on how dinner plans went when they involved attractive men?"

"Attractive men? So, there were _multiple _attractive men?" Claire scooted closer to her. She pressed her elbow against the surface of Ziva's desk and balanced her chin in her palm. She saw her new friend hesitate so she pushed further. "Ziva, spill."

"I do not want to get my desk dirty," Ziva responded slowly in a haze of confusion.

Claire rolled her eyes, "_Spill_, Ziva – you know, fess up and tell me what happened."

_Oh, _Ziva mouthed slightly embarrassed at the misunderstanding. She couldn't remember the last time she had a moment to feel like a real girl. Girly moments were quite rare at Mossad, probably in the entirety of her entire upbringing. She only had one close female friend growing up and they went their separate ways once Ziva made the decision (or rather accepted the idea) of training to become a successful Mossad operative under her father's rule. "Christopher was late as usual, so I waited at the bar. I was having a drink when this random man offered to buy me another." Ziva watched Claire's eyes grow in shock so she stopped her from asking any questions. It was getting a little too dramatic for her. "I refused but he kept asking even after I said I was waiting for someone."

"It was those boots, Ziva. I'm so glad you decided to wear them! They really do make your legs look amazing." Claire complimented her with ease to which Ziva could only smile, albeit slightly uncomfortably.

She ran her fingers through her curls before deciding to finally give her the most important detail. "Well," she halted dramatically. "The man at the bar – it was Tony DiNozzo – it was Christopher's best friend," Ziva finally admitted with the most pained expression.

"No."

Ziva pursed her lips in turn, "And the actual dinner wasn't any better. We kept looking each other and fought over the alcohol menu when Christopher was gone from the table. I thought about it all weekend."

"You thought about him all weekend?"

"No. I thought about _it_ the entire weekend because it was uncomfortable. And at some point he even said I wasn't Christopher's type – that he preferred blonde showgirls." She ran her tongue over her teeth and glanced down at her hands that she, at some point, settled in her lap. "He does not know the first thing about me. What gave him the right to tell me that while we're at a dinner that Christopher put together just for his benefit."

Claire offered an apologetic smile and put one hand over Ziva's, trying to be a decent friend to the Israeli woman who had helped her along the way since she started with the Department. "Ziva." She tilted her head to stare at her and Ziva glanced at her before sighing in defeat. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was interested in you. See what trouble a good pair of knee high boots gets you in?" She told her teasingly. Ziva responded with a small smile; she was genuinely enlightened by her innocence and outlook on the world. It was something that the Israeli soldier always wished that she had the opportunity to indulge in. "So, he was attractive?"

Ziva justified her lack of answer by pushing back from desk and making herself busy at the scanning machine at the other end of the room. That was enough.

* * *

><p>As much as Ziva had appreciated her and Claire's 'chat' about the failure of Friday night, she buried herself in the remainder of her files before Claire had another opportunity to bring up the subject. She bunched up her curls in a loose ponytail out of frustration as her fingers typed away at a steady pace to produce a memo that had to be out by the end of the day.<p>

Half way through the bulletin was the furthest she got. Her fingertips tapped almost silently against her desk as her brown eyes stared dangerously at the half empty document in front of her. "I think it'll set on fire if you stare at it any harder," a familiar voice said in a whisper from behind her. Ziva sat up straight, caught off guard, but immediately relaxed when her eyes settled on Christopher's scruff-covered features.

"What are you doing here?" She asked rather softly. Ziva swung away from her desk and stopped in front of him, their legs engaging in a gentle battle of brushing against one another. She watched cautiously as he leaned down to settle his arms on the arm rests on either side of her. "Christopher…" She cautioned; he never did understand the concept of being professional at work. Ziva tried to get the idea of her working for a federal agency through his head but somehow always failed. She was too distracting, he told her on numerous occasions. "I am very busy."

"Hmm," he hummed with a discrete glance from right to left. When the coast was clear, he closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to hers. It was always gentle but also always enough. "I've been waiting all day to do that," he whispered with a genuine smile down at her. One of his hands settled on her cheek, brushing against her skin lightly, and she couldn't bear to push him away.

"Your days end at 2:40 P.M.?" Her chin rose slightly at him while her eyes narrowed. It was her classic 'I'm going to figure out whatever it is you're planning' face.

A careless shrug came then, "When I really want to see you – yeah."

"I am not as lucky," Ziva replied before letting out a sigh. There was nothing more she wanted than to have a relaxing lunch with him, but things were too busy at the office. She couldn't imagine getting away for even twenty minutes to spend some much needed time with him. "Things are pretty busy here today."

"You gotta eat, Ziva. And I'll even get you your favorite Berry Mango Madness smoothie for dessert." He gave her his best sad puppy dog look, knowing she'd cave once she stared at him long enough. While she had her strategies, he definitely had his own. They were the best and worst for each other.

Ziva opened her mouth to respond, but Claire was much faster in taking the cue on trying her hand at persuading Ziva that she needed some down time. "I'll hold down the fort," the blonde promised – already picking up the unfinished files on Ziva's desk and setting them into her arms. "Go get that smoothie," she winked at her and retreated before the overworked Israeli could do anything in attempt to protest.

Christopher's smile grew from insignificant to lighting up his entire face. He pushed away from the arm rests of her office chair and pulled her up with ease, not wasting a minute of their allotted time. Ziva could only smile at his eagerness, so she did not try to make any excuses as she always had. Instead, she pulled her bag up from under her desk and pulled the long strap over her shoulder and followed him on the way out. "Twenty minutes," she pulled on his arm to make him stop and look back at her. He always got away with things and times if she didn't set up any boundaries or deadlines.

"Twenty five," he argued just as seriously and Ziva generously allowed him his win.

* * *

><p>He kept her a lot longer than the twenty-five allotted minutes; so much so that she was rushing back into the office before anything bad enough happened that she'd have the pleasure of taking care of for the rest of the week. The elevator couldn't have taken her up fast enough no matter how many times she pressed 'level 4' or the 'close doors' button. It finally dinged in her arrival and the sliding open silver doors revealed two men waiting in suits at her empty desk.<p>

Ziva eyed Claire from the doorway, wondering why she hadn't helped them. Even from the back, she was sure her instincts were right - they had to be federal agents. They had that macho posture, the way they left one hand in a pocket and the other at their side. One of them was definitely more masculine than the other so she assumed the shorter man was new or an agency trainee.

Hearing the taller man sigh and shift his weight from one foot onto the other, she made her way up to her desk and slid her unfinished smoothie off to the side. "I hope you haven't been waiting long. How can I help you?" Ziva asked without looking at them, instead looking through the Defense Secretary's schedule on her screen.

One of the agents slid their badge onto her desk to identify themselves, clearly annoyed. "We've only been waiting for a good fifteen minutes while you were out enjoying your strawberry smoothie. What kind of place are you running here?"

"Tony," McGee slapped his arm.

Ziva finally raised her eyes to meet the other agent's. Unlucky for her, the recognizable face was not one she wanted to see. "It is Berry Mango Madness, actually." She slowly inhaled and exhaled before proceeding. Out of all of the offices at the DOD, Ziva didn't understand why Tony DiNozzo of all people had to show up at her division. "I am a part of the Secretary's security detail – we are slightly understaffed, so I'm sorry for your fifteen minute wait, Agent DiNozzo." She made sure to mock him as she finished, tilting her head to the side as she stared at him.

He gaped at her, hiding his pleasant surprise at seeing her mind of their own curls and wild brown eyes. That and he couldn't forget her kick start attitude that put him in his place no matter the type of opportunity she had. "I didn't know you worked here."

"Now you do," Ziva replied matter-of-factly before offering an apologetic smile to his much younger partner. "The Secretary should be waiting for you in his office – you are on his schedule." She nodded her head down the hall in approval of their going on their own. "Second door on the right."

"Huh," Tony mumbled before starting on his way to the designated office with McGee close behind. He snuck one last look back at her before continuing further down the empty hallway.

McGee eyed him curiously, crossing his arms over his chest. "What'd you do – not call her or something?"

"Or something."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

**Happy Thanksgiving! I tried really, really hard to finish this as a holiday gift to the loyal readers. **

**I hope you enjoyed chapter 2. It's coming along faster than I expected, but I'm really enjoying it so it's great. Let me know if there are any particular things you may want to see and I'll try to incorporate. Thank you for reading and reviewing. I'd love to hear your thoughts!**


	3. Chapter 3

A scheduling error? That had to be it. Ziva had put Claire in charge of the Secertary's scheduling for the last month so now with them being extremely understaffed she should have expected there be an error in timing. Secretary Pratt was a busy man and she saw no logical reason two NCIS agents would show up out of the blue to see the man. They were criminal investigators – field agents – and their time should have been better – or rather, more usefully – spent. Ziva waited on the suspicion too long, having to stop in her tracks to question Claire on her potential mistake when the Secretary emerged alongside the two agents she had just dismissed moments ago. "Officer David," Secretary Pratt called without looking at her. He was too focused on the blackberry in his hand, quite possibly checking his calendar that she and the new assistant had been put in charge of. She drew her eyes away from Claire who looked a little too terrified for Ziva's liking and refocused on the department figure in front of her.

"Mr. Secretary," she nodded with a glance at the two suits behind him. Naturally, she straightened up and awaited her order. Always a soldier – it would always be in her blood, it seemed.

He seemed to not hear her then, his attention still on the smartphone in his hand. After a beat, he successfully locked it and pushed it into his suit pocket. "There seems to be an issue with the day's events. The Cyber Crime Conference I am due in attendance for doesn't seem to be scheduled and it's beginning in twenty minutes." He didn't seem too upset, as department heads didn't like going to those types of functions anyway, but Ziva hated looking unprepared in front of her superiors. "These nice agents from NCIS here were sent by the Director of NCIS to remind me." The Director and Secretary Pratt were longtime friends since their days of being a lot lower down on the federal government food chain. As such, it was natural for her to send two of her best agents to make sure he was alright. The man was always early, but everyone had their down days.

Ziva remained cool and collected, but any bigger of a grin from the Italian standing proudly behind Secretary Pratt would've made her lose her marbles. Despite the effort she had initially wanted to make in getting to know Chris' best friend – before all of the havoc – her interest in doing so now was diminishing slowly. First, he had the decency to hit on her at the bar and now he was making her look bad in front of her boss. "I apologize, Mr. Secretary. I promise it will not happen again." There was not much more she could say than that.

"Our Director is already at the location so if you'd like it would be our pleasure to escort you, sir." Tony made the offer thinking it was the nice thing to do, but it only made Ziva look more incapable of doing her job. He looked over the Secretary's shoulders innocently to meet the curly haired woman's eyes but was not met with thankfulness for his sentiments.

Ziva's eyes narrowed just the slightest bit instead – enough for him to notice – before she retaliated with a response. "I am quite capable of doing my job, Agent DiNozzo." The men in front of her had never seen a woman be ready so quickly. She pulled her suit jacket on quickly then grabbed her gun and weapon for precautionary reasons. "Mr. Secretary," she nodded her head and allowed him a head start to the elevators in the lobby of their floor. Ziva glanced back at Claire before following, but she knew she couldn't be too upset with her. She was still new and her downfalls were going to always end up on Ziva's shoulders at the end of the day. She had to maintain that level of comradery, as she was once the new one in the office herself. Claire looked guilty enough so she made sure to mouth, "It's fine," to reassure her before she disappeared behind the glass doors.

Tony and McGee took to a comfortable position against the back elevator wall while Ziva stayed up front. Her arms remained at her sides though they were tingling to cross over her chest out of irritation for the Italian agent who had no problem undermining her in front of the Defense Secretary of all people. The tension in the moving box could've been cut with a knife but Secretary Pratt failed to notice. He was too infused with the incoming messages on phone, and for once Ziva David was grateful. The group reached the garage grounds in a minute, exposing all the stand by vehicles ready for agents and security officers at the earliest convenience. "Mr. Secretary," McGee finally spoke up to bid him a due until the conference.

"Thank you, boys," Secretary Pratt replied with a professional smile.

Ziva approached the nearest vehicle, leaning forward and opening the door for Pratt and closing it behind him just as quickly. She approached the driver's side next, stopping and gazing over at the two men who started toward their own government assigned vehicle. She watched them engage in an innocence fight over the keys before Tony looked up in response to a strange feeling of having been watched. "Officer Da-veed," the Italian acknowledged with a barely noticeable nod. His eyes glistened just the same as when he looked at her for the first time at the bar. He decided that she got more beautiful the angrier she was with him, if that were humanly possible.

"Agent DiNozzo," Ziva returned looking right through him. She swung the door open and climbed in to get situated. Tony turned back to find McGee had snuck the key ring containing all the necessities from him in his moment of weakness. He shoved him lightly, taking a grab at the silver prize to be won and round two of boys being boys commenced. It must have gone on a little too long, Tony figured, as Ziva sped past them without stopping and exited the parking lot.

McGee stopped, a little startled by her speed, and gave his partner a curious raised eye look. "So, what'd you do?"

"What are you talking about, Probie?" Tony placed his hands on his hips, growing irritated with the continuous inquiries.

"She totally hates you," he said with an unmaintained laugh. "It's got to be killing you because she's completely your type."

"I don't have a type," Tony replied adamantly. He glared at the younger agent, who after the look of it took that as a sign to take a walk around the vehicle and take the passenger's side.

"She _is _the type." McGee turned his attention to securing the seatbelt around his body and making sure not to wrinkle his suit before he returning to any arguments with the senior field agent. "She's probably the most intimidating woman I've ever met," he admitted as Tony put the car into reverse and began backing out onto a clear path toward the exit of the lot.

"That's Chris' girlfriend," Tony finally let out once they had been on the road for a good five minutes. He averted his eyes the rest of the way while McGee all but stared at him with a shocked but knowing expression.

* * *

><p>When they arrived, the conference hall was filled with most of the important heads of the federal government. Ziva noted that the mingling hour had not concluded yet, watching both familiar and unfamiliar faces going back and forth for coffee and appetizers around her. She couldn't remember the last time she felt so relieved to have made a deadline; appreciative of the fact, she stood back while Secretary Pratt went ahead and met with his acquaintances forgetting the entire mishap of not having the event on calendar and being in the situation of almost missing it all together.<p>

She paced back and forth for a minute or two on look out for potential dangerous, but once satisfied she settled at a corner near the end of one of the coffee tables. Her back straight and her fingers tangled behind her back, her eyes still shifted right and left once in a while to make sure the Secretary would not find himself in a compromising situation of some sort. "How'd you get here so fast?" The Israeli looked to a breathless voice coming from her right.

Ziva almost smirked, but fought the urge and hid her satisfaction with the indirect compliment. "I drove," she answered nonchalantly before looking into the other direction. McGee grinned at their distant interaction and Tony's face of defeat before moving past them to secure another angle of the building. He nudged him, nodding over to the location he'd be securing and moved on without the Italian's response.

Tony chewed on his bottom lip, his eyes not leaving her face. There was so much he wanted to say to her, but he wasn't sure where to start. First of all, this wasn't the ideal location for any of it so probably starting nowhere was his best bet. He turned half way on his heels and settled at her side, observing the other half of the hallway that led into the conference hall. "Looks like the whole alphabet is here," he mused in a hopeful tone. "DEA, CIA, FBI…"

"So it would seem, yes." Ziva shifted positions and pulled her arms over her chest, clear signal she wasn't in the mood to socialize. The loose curls that escaped her hair band's hold bounced around her face every once in a while as her eyes scanned the area. She watched as people began filing into the nicely set up conference room. A figure was walking up to the podium while the overhead screen was being adjusted behind him. Despite the strength with which she fought her urge, her eyes drew over to the man beside her. She caught him just as he was leaning in to grab a piece of cheese off of a nicely assorted plate on the table beside them. Her fingers instinctively slapped his and he drew his hand back, giving her a glare. "What is wrong with you?"

He drew his hand back slowly, disappointed. But much like many other times, he bounced back quickly. "I'd say you just assaulted a federal agent, Officer Da-veed."

Ziva's eyes narrowed and eyebrows lifted in the most judgmental fashion she could manage. "I am a federal officer, Tony." She took a step toward him when he tried to reach for the last piece of bologna on another plate. "You are insufferable," she added before looking away. Her fingers fell to her sides and she played with the outlining of her badge at her hip.

"Hey, I told you I was sorry. I was there, and I'm pretty sure you were there too." He forced himself away from the appetizer table, turning his back on it and settling on facing her. If he was to admit it, she was much more pleasing to look at anyway. Government functions weren't the best with their food accommodations, especially when it came to conferences such as the one they were at now.

Ziva played with the silver Star of David hanging around her neck absently in consideration of his words. It wasn't that she was an unwelcoming person. Well, that was debatable. Things had changed a whole lot when she moved to The States but her personality would always be her own. It made her who she was, stuck to her like glue, and made it hard for people to accept and appreciate the person she sometimes came across as. She was serious and inquisitive, but also threatening – that much was clear. The time she spent with the IDF and Mossad made her that way and she on some subconscious level appreciated that more than she led people to believe. She was her own person. She was strong. She didn't depend on anyone. "I have been thinking about you," Ziva replied finally. She had to, because it looked like he was going to pass out from her lack of response at any moment. It was killing him.

He laughed then, loud and shockingly. The various agents around the parameter looked in their direction, hands instinctively going to their weapons. "You're joking," Tony whispered back to her after shaking a hand to the other agents to stand down.

"No," she replied softly. But there was more. "I quite often think about men who I'd like to put into a choke hold due to their womanizing habits."

"Womanizing," he repeated to clarify. "Look, sweetcheeks – "

"Womanizing habits, yes." Ziva eyed him strangely at the use of the nickname, finally letting go of the chain around her neck. Tony's green eyes focused on how it fell against her skin before returning to her face, waiting for her to continue. Her dramatic pauses were to die for, quite literally. "You are not what I expected." She knew that didn't really explain anything, but she somehow preferred it that way. Things were getting too complicated – she barely knew the guy and now they were in each other's professional worlds. They would have to work together on occasion and she had to find a way to be civil with him before it got too out of hand. Christopher wanted them to meet for a reason; they were both important to him, and she had to remember that before she went 'Mossad guard dog' or whatever else he'd nickname her eventually.

Tony nodded slowly, understanding what she meant to an extent but he didn't want to push. They barely knew each other and she didn't seem like the sharing type. Even what she allotted him felt like pulling teeth, so he retreated on the subject. She would still remain a mystery. "I get that." They stood together in an uncomfortable silence after that, Ziva not wanting to take her eyes off the half closed conference room doors and Tony reminding himself that a choke hold was not a pleasant experience.

They engaged in some small talk in their hour and a half of waiting – guarding – but nothing significant. Ziva began warming up to him, to his insistent need to always keep talking and keeping everyone around him entertained. He and Christopher were a lot alike in that sense and that was probably what drew her to him in the first place. She could see how much the two of them rubbed off on one another – how important they were in each other's lives.

The coffee was cold by the time the conference concluded and everyone made their way back into the hallway. Ziva searched the crowd, not seeing Secretary Pratt just yet but she was just as pleased to see a familiar face that headed into Tony and McGee's direction. The younger agent joined them at some point, though still a bit intimidated by the way the Israeli carried herself around a group of men. Tony opened his mouth to direct Director Shepard toward them, but Ziva took a step forward to say hello first. "Director," she acknowledged professionally before her tight features allowed a discrete smile. It had been quite some time.

"I didn't know you would be here," she replied and turned to her accompanying agents before continuing. "I hope you kept Ziva in good company. She saved me a time or two some time ago." Tony and McGee nodded silently, though there were so many questions that they wanted to ask. It was clear that, for some reason, Ziva was adamant on keeping that part of her life to herself.

"You saved my life," Ziva added honestly. "It was only fitting, yes?"

Secretary Pratt joined them before the two field agents were able to get any more information out of the pair's reunion. "Mr. Secretary, we should be going." She did not hesitate in moving toward the exit, the Secretary securely at her side in case of any mishaps. A few feet away from the agents however, Ziva turned back to their red headed Director. "I will be in touch," she promised.

* * *

><p>Monday nights usually called for movies and beer with Tony DiNozzo when they didn't live such busy lives, so now was a good a times as any to reminisce with a Bond film at tableside of a tomato pie and a few cans of beers. Christopher shuffled through his movie collection underneath the big screen television he always took pride in whenever he had people over until he found the right one. "From Russia With Love", it was always his and DiNozzo's favorite when they were younger. He grabbed the phone off of the coffee table beside him and dialed the Italian's number, balancing the phone between his shoulder and ear. "Hey, DiNozzo - I got a film calling your name."<p>

Tony had just returned home about a half hour ago, but Chris' offer was just not one that he could refuse. He agreed instantly, not bothering to ask what he had in mind. "Give me fifteen minutes and I'll be there," he promised already in search of his beloved Ohio State sweatshirt that would keep him warm. It was going to be a long Monday night.

"No problem, I'll be around. You want to stop by and get a pizza? I'm starving."

Their conversation took a pause as Tony pulled the hoodie over his head, adjusting it just right for comfort's sake. "Philly cheese steak?"

"If you have to ask," Chris grinned into the phone. "Extra cheese."

Tony scoffed in response, as if he didn't know. They had only been friends for numerous decades. "Who do you think you're talking to? It's not a pizza without the extra cheese. I'll see you soon!" His voice rose a few octaves; he was clearly excited for a good time with his favorite person. He just would never admit it to the man himself. Tony stuffed his wallet into his back pocket after hanging up and grabbed his apartment keys on the way out. He could already smell the pizza from the hallway – all delicious and imagination in all.

About fifteen minutes later - just as promised - Tony made it up the stairs to Christopher's apartment holding the pizza box under his arm. His stomach growled as soon as the cheesy aroma made it up to his nostrils and he was almost willing to leave now and have the pizza all to himself. Showing self-restraint, however, he knocked and waited for Chris to come to the door. "Christopher!" He yelled dramatically – self-restraint was not his strong suit, to be honest.

The door swung open then, revealing Chris holding a beer in his hand. "You know better than to call me that," he said and pulled the boxed delicacy from under the Italian's hold.

"Ziva calls you that all the time, man." They traded beer for pizza willingly and Tony closed the door behind him.

Chris laughed quietly, "Last time I checked you weren't a gorgeous brunette. She can call me _whatever_ she wants."

"She here?" He asked cautiously before following Chris into the kitchen.

Chris walked through the kitchen, careful not to let go of the pizza until he set it down on the dinning room table. He grabbed two plates for them on the way and set them down before opening the pizza box. "No, she's not. I usually don't see her until the end of the week."

"Oh? Trouble in paradise?"

The two of them sat down across from each other immediately, each reaching for a sizzling piece of freshly made pie in the box that cradled it. "She just likes her space. They keep her late at work and after that she likes getting a run in around her neighborhood. I know better than to question it," Chris explained before stuffing the first slice in his mouth. "This is amazing," he groaned of happiness. "Ziva doesn't do pizza and movies – you're my savior right now."

"I'm sorry, what?" Tony asked, baffled. "Who doesn't do movies and pizza?"

Chris shrugged; he had gotten used to it over the last three months of them seeing each other. "Israeli chicks, apparently. They're all about their hummus." Chris wanted to joke, but quickly realized how true that statement was for someone like Ziva. While she enjoyed the various cuisines he forced her to try over the course of their time together, she always went back to her favorite Mediterranean dishes.

"Don't stand between a girl and her hummus," Tony grinned in between another bite.

"Damn right," the man opposite him agreed. "She's great though, isn't she? Different than what I usually go for, I guess."

Tony nodded, still trying to figure out what made Chris change his mind on women. He had liked a particular type for so long that it seemed completely out of character for him to go for someone like Ziva. Granted, she was pretty amazing – and Tony came to that conclusion without having known her very much at all. Who needed a reason to find themselves attracted to a woman like her. "I'm pretty sure she could kick your ass; mine too." They toasted to that – the Jane Bond type of woman – before turning to their cinematic feature.

Eventually the pizza moved over to the comfort of the couch with them once the opening credits of the film began to roll. Tony chewed on the crust of his third slice until he couldn't hold it in any longer. "I don't think she liked me very much," he shared before glancing over at Chris who didn't seem to react. He never seemed to react before a well-planned insult was coming.

And then. "You're an acquired taste, DiNozzo." There it was.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

**Surprise! Happy post-Thanksgiving. :) Enjoy chapter 3 and I'd love to hear thoughts/suggestions/etc.**

**Also, thank you for all of the great reviews thus far. **


	4. Chapter 4

After a decent night's rest, Ziva was back to her morning run habits in no time. Her wild bed curls were tamed by a neatly knitted hat and her body kept warm by a slightly oversized sweatshirt that draped over the waist line of her capris. She made sure to bring along the spare key to Chris' apartment – knowing she'd end up at his place for her morning coffee and shower. It had happened so many times over the last few months that it became a routine for them. Though he did not see her every evening, he knew she'd come by on Tuesday mornings for her coffee fix and the business attire that she conveniently left in his bedroom. It worked out nicely for her; they'd have breakfast together and she was a metro stop away from the office.

She embraced the fresh air that had settled over the city after the passing storm as she went about her run. It was her favorite part about the raining passing, other than the rain itself. It smelled fresh and clean, and somehow relaxed her. Careful around both the puddles and the early birds heading to their respective offices on the street, she made a last turn onto Chris' street. Her feet slowed as she neared the five story tall apartment building, giving her a chance to catch her breath after her quickly paced commute.

"Hm," a mumble escaped her lips as she glanced down at her phone to verify the time. He was probably still asleep, she figured. Ziva lightly jogged up the staircase and entered the empty lobby, greeted with green mailboxes and old newspaper ads that hadn't been disposed of yet. Fishing the golden key out of her pocket, the Israeli made her way down the second floor hall until she was at her designated target – apartment 2F. She pushed her key into the lock, carefully turning it to the right, and jiggled it around a bit before finally being granted entrance.

The door made sure to squeak lightly behind her, an annoyance she ignored. Instead her brown eyes focused on the empty bedroom opposite the kitchen, seeing Chris' bed perfectly made. Ziva continued further into the living room until she found her light brown haired boyfriend of three months passed out on the couch, cradling a near empty pizza box with his arms. The Israeli couldn't help but smirk at the scene in front of her; despite her obvious amusement, she was glad to see the last piece of pizza was going to serve her well for breakfast. Her fingers snuck the piece as lightly as possible before she turned to proceed into the kitchen.

When she turned into the kitchen island, she was faced with a barrel of a gun. That, however, did not stop her from taking her first bite of the cold and somewhat stale slice of pizza in her hand. "Hello, Tony." She watched him carefully, knowing well enough that he was trained better than to pull the trigger upon hearing movement in the living room.

"What the hell, Ziva!" He hissed but maintained a whisper. He didn't know where to start, but knew well enough it was time to lower and secure his weapon. Her brown eyes watched carefully as he lowered the firearm and, once safe, tucked it in the back of his pants. "I could've blown your brains out, you know."

Obviously not startled, the Israeli pushed past him to retrieve a microwaveable plate from the kitchen cupboard. She pushed up on her toes and reached for her favorite plate – one a little out of her grasp, but she managed to grab it. "You would have been on the floor before you tried," she whispered back with her back to him. "What are you doing here?"

Tony leaned back opposite her, crossing his arms and staring at her in silence. There were only a handful of times when Tony DiNozzo was in a situation that rendered him speechless. "What are _you _doing here?" The Italian questioned finally, curious to find how she knew pretty much every single inch of Chris' kitchen.

"I have a key, and it is Tuesday." It was simple, yet completely confusing. Tony quickly realized that the woman he was just getting to know was never going to be one for simple answers. He rubbed his face, stifling a yawn, and watched the last slice of pizza rotating slowly in the microwave above her head. How could such a petite girl be so confident and terrifying? It was a mystery he promised himself he'd figure out eventually. "But, I asked you first." Her brown eyes glanced at him, soft and inviting now. He took the gesture with precaution.

Tony's fingers wrapped around a coffee cup filled to the rim. He didn't usually drink it black, but today seemed a good a day as any considering he had already drawn his weapon at 6:50 A.M. It was too early for that – for anyone. "We had a guys night," he began and Ziva hummed in understanding. "Pizza and beers, something I hear you aren't a fan of." He could have sworn he heard her laugh, but when she turned around her features were as neutral as they had been when he showed up at her DOD division the other day.

"The classic American food and pass time does not happen to be my favorite, no." She bit into the slice of pizza nonetheless; food was food at the end of the day. He raised his eyebrows at her in response, questioning her review on the Italian-turned-American delicacy. "I have had better."

"She has had better, she says!" He replied dramatically and with a slight laugh. "No way. That is absolutely mine and Chris' favorite pizza; we practically lived on it when we moved into the city. And we refuse to watch James Bond without it."

"Bond?"

Tony's eyes grew, "Ziva." He looked at her seriously, "Please tell me you're kidding."

The Middle Eastern woman leaned over him, grabbing and filling her own cup with the freshly brewed contents of the coffee pot. The hat atop her head was slowly sliding off of her curls, half way down by now though she did not seem to mind. "I am only here for the coffee," Ziva explained before bringing the hot liquid to her lips. "And I promise you, Christopher does not like me for my movie knowledge." Her eyes flickered with something new when she looked at him then. It was the most open she had been with him yet, and if he didn't know better he would have swore it sounded like she was flirting with him. But he didn't know better, and if Ziva was good at anything it was at playing her best hand in a game of sexual tension.

"Care to show me?"

She paused against him, taking a moment to study his face as he struggled to gulp down his sip of coffee. A silent laugh made it out of her throat when she saw the pained expression on his face. Her eyes gave him a quick scan over before his suggestive question finally registered in her mind. "Unbelievable," she mouthed just above a whisper in response.

"Sweetheart, if I had a dollar for every time I heard a girl say that…" He grinned down at her in between his musings. "I'd – "

"Tony?" Chris called as he approached the kitchen. The microwave working and Tony and Ziva's continuous bickering woke him from the night's sleep. He let out a yawn and covered his face with his hands, rubbing them over his eyes before finding an unannounced surprise waiting for him beside his best friend. Ziva had returned to sipping on her coffee by the time he was awake enough to notice the two of them, and by then he could only smile at her unexpected presence. "Oh, it's Tuesday." He wrapped an arm around her shoulders after reminding himself and snuck her half full mug away to take a sip himself.

The Italian beside them furrowed his eyebrows, still completely lost in the concept of whatever the day of the week had to do with it. "You guys have a weird Tuesday fetish thing that I don't know about?" he inquired playfully before digging out a bagel and pushing it into the toaster beside the refrigerator.

"Our schedules are hectic sometimes, but Christopher's apartment is closer to my office so when I run in the morning I just end of up here sometimes." Ziva found it logical enough given that she had become accustomed to doing it for several months now. She returned to finishing up the crust of what was left while Chris nodded in agreement.

"And I supply the breakfast."

"Amongst other things," she whispered teasingly before turning to pour herself some more coffee. With her back now turned, Tony shot Chris a knowing smile who couldn't help but grin in return. She looked up at the two then, seeing the goofy grins still plastered on their faces. "The coffee. I meant the coffee," she added before pushing away from between them. Thankful that her curls hid her cheek's growing pink undertones, she instinctively made her way down the hall and into the bathroom for a shower.

The long time friends stood silently for a second, both focusing instead on sipping the coffee in their hold. When the water was turned on, Chris glanced to his right at the Italian a small amused smile playing on his face. "She's a handful."

"Yeah," Tony mumbled back. "A lot more to her than the showgirls you were into three months ago." It almost sounded bitter, but Christopher gave him the benefit of a doubt. He punched his arm playfully before walking to the refrigerator and getting a half finished carton of cream cheese for the federal agent's toasted bagel.

* * *

><p>Refreshed, Ziva settled in at her desk with call back's and reports waiting for her. Her fingers brushed her hair aside, eyes focusing on the items in front of her and ignoring the situation she had gotten herself into at the early hours of the morning. Ziva had gotten the opportunity to think about it on the way into the office and the parting thoughts she settled on were anything but positive. She was even more conflicted about Tony DiNozzo now than she had when they had met for the first time at dinner and seeing him on a more consistent basis wasn't making things any easier. They weren't exactly friends, but they weren't enemies – they didn't have a specific title. All she knew was that there was an attraction between them that was unique, something that she hadn't encountered before. It was special and her initial hatred for the Italian was slowly diminishing.<p>

Too infused with her own thoughts, the Israeli only managed to look up when Claire addressed her for the fourth time. "Ziva?" She lifted her head, lost eyes blinking a few times before they settled on the professionally dressed blonde in front of her.

"Yes," she answered back confidently. She drew her fingers away from the keys she was pressing on the keyboard of her desktop and sat back to provide her with her complete attention. Her features remained as stoic as ever, not wanting to look like her professional integrity had been compromised by something personal.

Claire collapsed into the chair beside her, hands clasping together in her lap. "I am so sorry, Ziva. I have only been here for a few weeks and it was such a stupid mistake. Was Secretary Pratt upset?" Ziva stared back confused, already having forgotten about the situation that unraveled in their office the previous afternoon. Claire pursed her lips at the Israeli's lack of response, tilting her head slightly in an anxious wait. "The scheduling issue…"

Ziva's serious exterior finally broke, giving the younger woman a bit of comfort. "He forgot about it as soon as we got to the elevator, Claire. I promise you." She patted her hand, feeling a strangeness in having to play the 'comforting' role if she were to call it that. It wasn't her usual way of doing things and she always looked to avoid that kind of confrontation with someone. Emotion didn't come with her Mossad training and sometimes she regretted leaving that life. It was easier, in a sense. She was not put into situations other than those dealing with acquiring a target and pulling the trigger. Things were easy.

"I just – I really like this job and I wouldn't want to lose it over one mistake. But I know it was a big one; and I promise it'll never happen – " Ziva stopped her mid-rant, taking both of her shoulders in a strong hold. She looked at her seriously, her facade not melting away before she nodded in understanding at her fears.

"You are fine, Claire."

The woman opposite her let out a sigh of relief, giving her a grateful smile. She caught Ziva off guard when she reached over to give her a tight hug, a touch that Ziva quickly stiffened at. Another situation she wasn't quite used to due to her upbringing. A moment later, she gave into the gesture and relaxed into her touch. If she were to admit it, it was almost nice. "Ziva?" Claire inquired again.

The Israeli pulled back to look at her, a raise of the eyebrows settled on her face. "Claire?" She asked cautiously.

"Yesterday, that NCIS agent that you got into an argument with – didn't you say Christopher's best friend was Tony DiNozzo?"

Ziva stared at her silently, her mind processing all of the ways that she could get herself out of the current conundrum that she found herself in. She blew a stray curl out of her face and gave the blonde an unemotional nod before leaning over to grab the phone on her desk. "I have a lot on my dish today, Claire. Are we good?"

"Plate," she corrected with a small smirk. Claire rose from her seat, retreating from Ziva's assignment filled desk but making sure to stop in front of her before she left for good. "He _was_ quite attractive," she told her – reminding her of the conversation they had had on Monday. "Definitely a looker," Claire added before strolling over to her designated desk.

Ziva watched her, choosing to bite at her inner cheek rather than respond to the observation. Her fingers dialed an extension and she spoke into the landline, "This is Ziva David for the Press Secretary, please."

* * *

><p>Ziva pulled her jacket over blouse, ready to depart. She was usually the last one gone at their office so she committed to a quick look around before pushing her hands into her pockets and heading for the elevator. As one of the three potential openings arrived upon her request, her cell phone vibrated in her pocket. Her eyes brightened, seeing it was an incoming message from Christopher.<p>

Christopher (6:11 P.M.): I know it's last minute, but my parents are having a dinner for my sister's engagement. Come?

Ziva hesitated, stopping mid-way in the elevator and re-reading the request.

Ziva (6:12 P.M.): Leaving the office now. Can I bring anything?

Christopher (6:12 P.M.): Just yourself.

Christopher had no idea how uncomfortable she felt at his family outings. It wasn't that she didn't like them or appreciate their inclusion of her, but she wasn't brought up that way. For as long as she could remember, her childhood had been spent with her siblings rather than her parents. Her father was always busy, naturally, and she never questioned that. When she matured, she embraced his distant demeanor and took it on as her own. But Chris' family was completely different and sometimes it scared Ziva to be a part of something so drastically different than what she was accustomed to. In spite of her fearful hesitations, she chose not to share that with him. Whatever he didn't know would not hurt him, the warrior-raised Israeli reasoned.

Once she made it to her apartment, Ziva made a quick dash for her closet to retrieve a fresh silky long-sleeved top and a pair of jeans. She found it fitting to go with her most comfortable outfit to give herself an extra sense of self – to feel confident in a household that brought about all of her insecurities despite their absolutely loving her. Ziva snagged her favorite pair of combat boots before making her way to the front door. She paused at the doorway to pull them on, stuffing her jeans neatly inside and tying the laces soundly.

Ziva (6:55 P.M.): On my way.

She hit send and made her way to her awaiting Mini Cooper at the curb right outside of her building.

* * *

><p>It didn't take her long to make it to the outskirts of D.C.; it wasn't a big city. Once she turned onto their block she found a number of cars already parked all around their residence. The number of them made her extremely nervous, already anticipating just how many people were inside. Killing the engine, she pulled her curls out of the hair tie that had restrained the strands for the workday and watched them fall generously over her shoulders.<p>

The Israeli took a deep breath and pulled herself out of the compact car, locking it behind her as she approached the two-story family home in front of her. She saw most of the lights on and the shadows of the passerby's' as they went about inside the house. The driveway seemed to go on forever at that moment, and she remembered how much easier it had been with Christopher dragging her along the first time. She was not one for family dynamics, he learned without her actually explaining the logic behind it. Ziva made it to the door finally, licking her lips and forcing her hand to hover over the doorbell. Ziva shook her head at herself, mocking her weakness, and pushed herself to ring the small device beside the door. There was no going back now.

Her eyes dropped down to her brown boots; tongue running over her teeth nervously as she listened to a pair of approaching footsteps near closer and closer. "Ziva!" Christopher's sister – Lauren – greeted her first. She was not one for discrete welcomings so she leaned over and hugged her tightly with a slight sway.

"Lauren, let her breathe." Christopher came around the hall to find his curly haired companion struggling in his younger sister's hold. Lauren drew back at his request and Ziva smiled faintly, glancing at Christopher as she made her way inside. "Hi, you."

"Hi," she mouthed in return and pressed her lips against his cheek. Ziva smiled when she drew back, studying the mischievous look he had been giving her since she arrived moments ago. With his hand already at the back of her head, he pulled her back to him and pressed his lips gently against hers for a proper showing of affection.

Chris' mother spotted them as soon as they parted, Ziva's arm snaking around Christopher's instinctively. "Oh, Ziva – come in, come in." She pulled the Israeli away from Chris and toward the dining room with the others. Ziva had decided from the beginning that his mother was her favorite. She reminded Ziva a lot of her own mother, someone that she did not have the opportunity to get to know as much as she could have. She was warm and welcoming, but also just as equally supportive. The first time Chris introduced Ziva to the family his mother spent well over two hours talking with Ziva and getting to know her – where she was from, what Israel was like, how she was adjusting to America, and her hopes and dreams for the future.

When they reached the dining area, Ziva found the most crowded table of food she'd ever laid her eyes on. From appetizers to warm entrees, she was sure she wouldn't be leaving the Wilson household hungry at the end of the evening. "Thank you for having me," Ziva finally told her after greeting a couple more of Chris' relatives who had already chosen their seats for the meal. "Can I help with anything?" She asked, following his mother into the kitchen. It was her safe place – always something to do, always something to hide behind.

His mother was about to instruct her when she noticed Tony reaching for a taste of the desserts set aside for later in the evening. "Anthony DiNozzo, don't you dare!" She commanded, leaving Ziva's side and walking over to him to smack his hand away. He let out his infamous whine and drew his hand back without a witty comeback. Christopher's mother was like his own, and whatever she said went. The brown haired woman shook her head and reached over to move the tray with the recently baked cake to the other side of the kitchen. "Ziva, have you met Tony?" The two found each other's eyes silently, though Tony's faltered to take in her attire. Out of all of the times he had seen her, her casual look seemed to fit her best. It was like those beat up laced-up boots told her something about her that no one ever bothered to share.

"Yes – hello, Tony," Ziva offered a faint smile before coming to rest comfortably against the doorway. Christopher's mother made herself scarce, finding something in the living room that needed fixing.

He smiled wickedly at her, now alone. "Ziva. You look…nice."

She nodded her head in return, focusing her attention on tossing the salad closest to her for distraction. "Todah," came a quiet thanks. He approached her slowly, stopping behind her and watching as she meticulously tossed the salted and peppered greens in front of her – careful not to miss a single leaf. "This is a little too much for me," she admitted quietly with a glance before her. He didn't tell her, but her curls slapped his skin as she turned to acknowledge him.

Tony smiled behind her in understanding, reaching for one of her curls mindlessly. He drew his hand back before it was too late, inhaling sharply. "Yeah, there are a lot of them. But you can handle it; they were already talking about you before you got here."

Ziva gave up on the salad, letting go of the wooden spoons and turning to face him. She didn't realize how little space there was in the kitchen before she did so, finding their faces closer than she would have liked. "Good things, yes?"

The Italian gave her a playful grin, teasing her before responding. He'd relish in making her nervous about the family's perception of her just a moment longer. He could see how important it was to her – to be accepted, to be liked by them. "Terrible things," he said finally and received a nudge with one of her knees.

"They took a liking to you, Tony. The odds have to be in my favor," her eyes sparkled with fire as she shot back. Ziva inched her head up and back to look at him a bit more tauntingly before Christopher's family made the announcement that everyone should make their way to the dining room and be seated for dinner. Ziva grabbed the salad behind her, patting Tony's chest before heading to the dinner table. She settled it in a free spot and then made her way to the seat by Christopher. Her small frame slid in easily, taking his hand underneath the table instinctively and smiling at him in wait of the others finding their seats.

Lauren sat with her new fiancé, Mark, at the head of the table. They stared at each other lovingly the entire evening – laughing to themselves and doing all the other newly engaged couples things that sometimes were a little bit too public for the dinner table. They caught up on the new things going on in all of their lives in between bites of their mother's delicious cooking, which Ziva found comfort in. The more time she spent there, the more she forgot that she was forced to sit between Christopher and Tony and deal with their juvenile shenanigans. "You're a brave woman, Ziva," Lauren commented after Christopher reached over her shoulders to head slap Tony while he was trying to take a sip out of his glass. "Those two act like children whenever they're together. I'm surprised they have actual jobs."

Ziva was about to return an equally mocking comment about the two when Christopher and Lauren's mother cleared her throat in demand of silence for a toast. She rose from her seat, smiling over at the couple of the hour with a wine glass in her hand. "I know that this dinner was very last minute, but I just wanted to thank everyone for coming. And of course wish Lauren and Mark all the best in the near future. Lauren's father and I are extremely happy for them and what is to come very soon," she continued on lovingly. Ziva couldn't help but smile, admiring their mother's ability to relish in so much happiness for their engagement. "And hopefully," she looked to Chris and Ziva, "for what is to come for some others in our family as well."

The sly addition left Ziva speechless, though she forced her small gasp into a smile that she dared not drop until all eyes were away from them. Her free hand ran through her hair nervously before she brought her own wine glass to her lips and took a big gulp of the white wine inside. Tony watched her out of the corner of his eye, sensing her discomfort, before returning to the food on his plate.

Various other toasts of the night continued through the evening, recalling many moments about Lauren and Mark as well as noting all of the aspirations they hoped to accomplish as a bound pair now. It was a little too much for Ziva, and she felt it fair that she make someone else uncomfortable considering her calm and controlled demeanor about Tony and Christopher taking each and every opportunity to act like teenagers at the dinner table. When fitting, the Israeli slowly pulled her chair back to exit from the table. Her fingers angelically snaked over Tony's shoulder blades as she went, causing him to react in shock and jump up from out of his seat.

Ziva, however, continued on toward the kitchen – though she made sure to watch him for however he was going to get himself out of that one. Tony licked his lips, considering all of his options once everyone had looked up at him after the dramatic gesture. His hazel eyes glanced in Ziva's direction annoyingly before he leaned over to grab his glass for a toast. "I, uh…well, I just wanted to say a couple of words for the bride and groom to be." Ziva paused against the wall, leaning back and watching him. "I've known Lauren for a really long time, and she's really great. You're really great, Lauren, and I don't know if you remember but all those years back I took you to your prom and…well that was fun, you remember?" he chuckled nervously before finding the words to continue. The looks from all of the relatives seated around the table were not much help though. "I just know that you're going to make Mark very happy. He's very lucky to have you and I wish the both of you the very best because you really deserve it," he finished eloquently and let out a deep breath once it was over.

Once everyone toasted their glasses together and clapped, Tony excused himself in Ziva's direction which led to the hallway away from the kitchen. She was fixing the collar of her blouse when he found her, and she smiled devilishly at him through the square mirror hanging on the painted wall. "You're a troublemaker, Da-veed."

Ziva turned to him then, brown eyes full of innocence and excuses if it were possible. For her, anything was possible. She'd take every excuse in the book and he'd let her. She was hauntingly beautiful – held captive by something he couldn't put his finger on quite yet. She needed a little bit more time. "I thought your toast was beautiful," she taunted with a drowning into his eyes that spoke volumes.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

**I can't believe we're at the end of chapter 4. I hope you enjoy it!**

**Thank you for every single one of the reviews that all of you lovely readers have left since this story began. I appreciate every single one. Also, to clarify: there will be no cheating (rather a natural change of heart as happens to many in the world) and the plot will focus more so on their personal lives than on a caseload. For the later, I would direct you to my other stories! Though they are majority Tiva influenced, they are more case driven. **

**Again, thank you for reading.**


	5. Chapter 5

Christopher moved past the commotion in the Wilson household to find Ziva and Tony in the hallway, staring silently at each other a good set of inches apart. "There you are!" He pressed on a smile to hide his curiosity in their spending quite a bit of alone time together. It was what he wanted all along anyway – his best friend to approve of his choices. Ziva turned her head to look at him then, breaking whatever was going on between her and Tony in the moment prior. "I have a huge deadline for tomorrow," he told her after grabbing his coat off a hanger. "I'm sorry I have to leave you to the wolves."

Ziva nodded silently; although they put on a good show for everyone their relationship wasn't as perfect as it seemed. They had great times – sure – but Ziva often found that work took precedent instead of her. She didn't mind most of the time, but the instances were becoming more and more common. And that was saying something. The Israeli always buried herself in her work at the office, so if she was starting to feel the distance between them it had to have been having a significant amount of times. "No, I understand. It's important," she moved past Tony to say goodnight and press a kiss on Christopher's check while he fixed his collar.

He gave her a thankful smile and left quietly, the front door creaking closed behind him. The sound of his footsteps grew quieter and quieter as he moved away from the house and toward his car in the driveway. Ziva turned toward the closet then, brushing her hair behind her ear and searching in quest of her own things. "That was almost believable," the Italian mused a short distance away.

"You read too much into things," she muttered to him. Ziva searched through a few more hangers before fishing out the leather jacket that she arrived in.

She all but heard him smirk when he shifted positions against the wall. "I'm an investigator, Ziva. I like to observe – some people say I'm pretty good at it." He played with one of his cufflinks while listening to her struggle with her overcoat.

"Some would refer to that as stalking, yes? I have heard it is a major problem that plagues many in the United States today." Ziva pulled one arm through and then the other, settling into the cloth comfortably and pulling her curls out from underneath. She pulled her arms over her chest then, suddenly uncomfortable with the way he was looking at her – studying her, trying to figure her out. "What?"

"You're that type of girl that never gives anyone a straight answer," it was more of a statement than a question. "Never let anyone in, always fight your own battles that you never let anyone in on…"

"I am many things, Tony, but a type is not one of them," she replied a little deflated. "I assure you," it turned more sure and threatening. "And they are my own battles. My own…misgivings."

"Just tell me," he pushed gently.

Ziva averted her eyes, trying to find anything but him to focus on. He just had to be so damn curious about everything. She hated it; Americans always needed to know – who, what, where, when, or why. It drove her absolutely crazy and made it ridiculously difficult to adjust to. "This is not the place." She gave the Italian a shake of the head before turning back into the rest of the house. "And I am fine."

He cocked his head and decided to not let her get away with the mysteries this time. "I know a place." Before she could protest the offer, he grabbed his things and headed out the door. Pausing briefly in the doorway, he turned back to her for a last statement. "It's been raining out for a while now – don't make me wait too long outside." Leaving his lighthearted offer with her, he hopped down the steps leading down from the porch.

* * *

><p>But make him wait she did. It wasn't entirely per her own vocation. Chris' family had a thing about long goodbyes; Tony had mastered getting in and out of there as quickly as possible over the course of their friendship, but Ziva was still new to the atmosphere. She was completely wrong in thinking her Mossad skills would've helped her get out of that one, so eventually she gave up and embraced it. About twenty minutes later, she made it out with a sigh of relief. Thinking Tony was long gone by now, she stuffed her hands into her pockets and lowered her head as she walked into the street – her curls catching the heavy water drops as they fell and keeping her somewhat dry.<p>

She found him leaning against her red two-door with a not so happy look plastered on his face. His styled hair that he worked hours to perfect every morning was damp and unstyled. Sensing his outrage, Ziva decided to keep her comments to himself on his most prized possession. "It's my best feature, you know." The rain continued to run down his face and seep into the long sleeved dress shirt he was wearing. The incoming cold breeze sent a shiver down his spine but he remained as still as when he got there.

"I thought that was your sparkling personality. Or is it your stamina? I am not well versed in the DiNozzo stratosphere." She pulled her keys out of her pocket and unlocked the car, glancing at it beyond his shoulder as if to give him a cue to move out of the way. He didn't, of course.

"It's _dazzling_, Zee-vah. Jeez, how long have you been in this country?" He slid aside to allow her entrance to the driver's door, careful not to soak his Italian leather shoes in any puddles that had formed in the short amount of time. "Nevermind, just follow me. Do you know how to do that?"

Her eyes narrowed slightly before she took a sudden step toward him. He jumped a little, taken aback by her threatening persona. If looks could kill. Seeing the reaction she wanted warranted a genuine smile. Ziva pulled open the car door and got inside, not waiting for him. She saw him walking toward his own vehicle a couple cars down in her rear view mirror while her hands fixated on working out the tangled seatbelt. Hearing him start the engine, she waited for him to pull the car away from the curb and then followed suit.

* * *

><p>The drive into downtown was relatively smooth except for a few crazy cab drivers. The roads were empty for the most part and the rain started coming down harder the closer they got to Tony's mystery location. Their cars halted at the only coffee shop left open on the block, mostly empty inside but various people still working to finish up their shifts.<p>

On the drive over, Ziva's hair had radically taken to the humidity outside. Her damp curls grew in volume and she struggled with a few along the way so as to not cause any major accidents. She was always good at getting herself out of the stickiest of situations – _almost _an accident was not an accident. Logistically speaking, Tony DiNozzo would have to agree. Considering the amount of times his heart stopped and he swore he saw his life flash before his eyes just at the mere rear view glance of her on the road, he would not.

She parked first, locking the car and taking a quick sprint into the shop. A bell chimed above the door as she entered – a sound she always seemed to disregard. She moved closer to the menu, arms still around herself for an additional fill of warmth.

"Can I help you, miss?" The older woman behind the counter offered.

Ziva answered the question with a tight smile and a shake of the head. "I am waiting for someone. He should be right in." The Israeli fiddled with the zippers covering her jacket while she waited, feeling like she'd been there forever. On the contrary, it had only taken him about a minute to make it into the coffee shop and find her admiring their daily menu filled with too many appealing options to not want one of everything.

The woman's smile grew when the Italian peaked in through the doorway. He ran a hand through his hair, struggling to make the most of the unappealing styling the rain outside had given him, before saying hello. "Anthony!" She looked so happy to see him. Tony had been coming to that particular coffee shop ever since he'd moved to Washington D.C. to work with Gibbs at NCIS. He found it at random one night, driving through town and baffled by the idea that everything in the city didn't stay open later than 9 P.M. Sometimes even 8:30 P.M. at the latest. So naturally, he became a regular over the years and always knew where to take his ladies of the evening when they wanted to grab a late night coffee and fresh pastry.

"Mrs. Marin, you look lovely as always," he complimented after arriving at the counter. "It always smells great in here," he inhaled dramatically and then looked back at Ziva who had been watching their interaction carefully. "You make up your mind? It's on me."

Ziva came over to join him, taking a half second look at the pastries laid out on display before giving him her final decision. "I will have a green tea with extra honey," she said after convincing herself out of falling for any of the sugarcoated things in front of her. Tony gave her a strange look for the order, but let her be. Let the ninja do her own thing, he reminded himself.

"Green tea with extra honey for the lady," he told the cashier. "And your coffee de jour for me." He swiped his card for the cost and signed the receipt when provided before showing Ziva to his favorite table. It was the furthest one back, all the way by the wall. It hid them from everything but gave them a view of the whole place at the same time. It was also the best people watching spot for the exterior; Tony had spent many days and nights watching the people of Washington D.C. go about their lives. It served as a source of entertainment for him from time to time, but tonight it was a great opportunity to watch the city be immersed in the heaviest of rain they'd seen all season. The empty street was overcast with lighting from the street lamps above and the pavements were beautifully glossy.

Ziva took a seat opposite him, closest to the wall. The seating arrangement somehow hid her from the light and she was grateful for that. Seeing the curious look Tony was already giving her, it wasn't going to be easy. She wasn't a sharer. A giver. At least not in the connotations he currently had in mind. "So is this where I bear my soul to you?" She inquired, tapping her fingers lightly on the table. She was nervous, evasive.

"It's whatever you want it to be, Ziva." They listened to the silence together until Mrs. Marin brought their order over to them. She not only placed the coffee in front of Tony and the green tea in front of Ziva, but also slid a plate full of pastries between them before taking her leave. The Italian's smile grew immediately, his eyes feasting over the different baked goods in front of them. "I love coming here before closing – there's always the left over pastries and guess who gets to take them all home for himself.

"Do you share?" She asked, locking eyes with him. He pushed the plate closer to her and raised his cup of coffee up to his lips with the other. Waiting. "I am fine, Tony." She told him the same thing she had back at the Wilsons' house, but it didn't fool him. He remembered the look of discomfort on her face when Chris' mother indirectly pushed on them getting more serious sooner rather than later.

Tony took a bite of a cheese danish, closing his eyes briefly and enjoying the surge of happiness that the sugar overload provided. "His mom can be a lot sometimes," he told her but Ziva stared back pretending not to understand. She didn't want to discuss this with him – her demons, her lack of wanting to move forward or being afraid to. He continued to push, knowing he'd eventually hit the nail on the head. "You didn't even touch your food after the toast."

"Who could after yours?" She spat back, frustrating. It was clear she wasn't pleased with his prying.

Tony grinned. "Oh, no. Not mine, bride-to-be."

Ziva took a sip of her tea, opening the cap and stirring the honey in with consistency. It had all probably evaporated in the heat, but the movement kept her focused on something other than her emotional instability. "It was…" She pursed her lips, not sure how to describe it. She never had to justify her reactions at Mossad, let alone for matters so personal such as these.

"Sudden?" Tony suggested, watching her go on with the stirring. He was waiting for the beverage to bubble over she was going so fast.

She shook her head in response, not sure how to explain it to him or if she even should have. "Wrong," she supplied. What the hell did that mean? Ziva clasped her hands together and returned to her dark thoughts she had left to be explained.

"I don't get it." She had to give him that – at least he was honest. Tony stared at her quizzically, silently urging her to explain herself. He had the time to be there all night if he had to. It just felt like the place he had to be.

Her lips parted to speak then closed. It was going to be a lot more challenging than she had foreseen. "I do not see myself falling in love," the Israeli admitted with an unsteady breath. It sounded so harsh when she said it out loud, but she had not been taught any differently.

"Who falls in love anymore?" Tony laughed lightly, trying to ease their conversation. He stirred in his chair, turning his attention again to his disgruntled hair do again because the mere thought of looking unpresentable irked him to an indescribably dissatisfaction.

She narrowed her eyes at him, but continued. "Things are getting too serious, and…I do not feel."

"You do not _feel_?"

Her lips turned dry, but now was a good a time as any. "There are things that Christopher does not know about me. Things that I have not shared with him because they are a part of my past, and I wanted to leave them there," she paused considering her options but opted for optimism. He was a federal agent; he had to understand. "In Mossad, feeling is a weakness and – "

He quickly grabbed a clean tissue and spat the remains of the pastry into it. "Mossad?"

She glanced at him, not knowing how to take his reaction. It was rash, but that was Tony DiNozzo and by now she had not expected anything different. "Yes. Before I moved to the U.S, I was a Mossad control officer. I was good at my job – highly commended for all of my successful operations. I would not have been if I felt emotion; mistakes like that, they cost Mossad their assets and my career would have been rather short lived if I gave in to that."

"Huh," he mulled the new information over in his mind. It was not at all what he had expected from her, but she looked too serious to be making any of it up. "So, Ziva David is a badass super spy. All this time and I didn't even know I had a Jane Bond on my hands."

She let his movie reference slide by, "I was trained by the best."

Tony smiled then, leaning a little closer to her after pushing his coffee cup aside. It was near empty by then and nowhere near as warm. No longer satisfying. "You know, that's what I like about Mossad."

Her eyebrows quirked up, "Our training?"

"Modesty," he announced instead.

Ziva stared at him silently for a while. Her fingers fidgeted with the foam cup in her grasp before she began again. "I lost my little sister, Tali, in a Hamas suicide bombing. She was sixteen and the best of us," Ziva told him with much pride. "Tali had compassion."

She watched the Italian nod, listening intently and then follow up with an apology. "I'm sorry, Ziva." He hadn't expected her to share, but he wasn't going to stop her now. Somehow he had managed to crack some layers of her walls away.

"After Tali's death, all I wanted was revenge."

"Is that why you joined Mossad?"

She laughed slightly, a little too darkly for the Italian's liking. "I was Mossad long before Tali's death. It is an old…"

"Family tradition?"

"No," Ziva shook her head of wild curls. "Israeli sense of duty," her amended statement explained. Tony decided to ease off of her for a while after that. The pair sat finishing their drinks and tasting the remainder of the pastries that Mrs. Marin had provided them at the beginning of the evening. In spite of her relief, Ziva still felt a bit uneasy about the whole thing. It had not solved anything for her with Christopher, but she was almost proud of herself for letting someone else in. Letting them understand her, even if at most it had been just an ounce of who she was and what experiences made her the person she was today. "We should go, yes?" She asked him suddenly, realizing how late in the evening it had gotten.

Tony agreed and cleaned their table off for them quickly. He let Ziva go ahead of him and took the moment to wave back to Mrs. Marin who always left him with a smile. Ziva exited out onto the street, stopping strategically before having to get drenched in the storm that was still going strong. Tony came up behind her in a matter of seconds, his shoulder nudging hers lightly. "So, come on. Who recruited you? Your father? Uncle? Brother? Boyfriend?"

"Aunt. Sister. Lesbian lover?" Ziva returned his play.

"You're good," he leaned into her. "Almost got me off the question. Almost," Tony ended in a whisper.

Ziva began walking backwards toward her car, leaving him to stand alone at the front entrance of the coffee shop. The rain immediately soaked her again, but she didn't seem to mind. For the second time that night, she looked free. "I volunteered," a pause. "Laila tov," Ziva told him in her native language. She ducked her head under and got into the driver's seat once the door was unlocked and pulled back for entry.

"Buona notte." He watched her red Mini Cooper disappear down the slippery metropolitan streets.

* * *

><p>Ziva did not show up at Christopher's the following Tuesday morning.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

**Woo! I am so happy with this chapter so I hope you are too. Something extremely important about me: I absolutely love the T/Z scene at the hotel in Kill Ari Part II, so since rain was involved in this chapter I had to incorporate it. **

**Excited to hear your thoughts.**

**Also, next chapter will (hopefully) be coming toward the end of the week. Forensics finals are coming up. :)**


	6. Chapter 6

She made sure to send an apologetic text message to Christopher when she didn't show up on Tuesday – it was always a busy week at the Department of Defense and she had to put off running. It seemed peculiar but Chris let it go, knowing that she always liked to her have her own time and space. But if he had pushed it, he would have been right. Despite the amount of work that was being pushed onto her at work, Ziva always made time for her long runs in the city. It cleared her head and gave her something else to focus on that wasn't her confusion and fear of commitment to someone she had – at some point – imagined a future with. She just needed time.

Since Wednesday went by as silently as it came in, Ziva decided that setting a morning aside to spend with him would be best. It was relatively easier to take off the morning than she had imagined, but she was grateful. In spite of her lost perspective on their relationship, she would have been lying if she said she didn't miss him. No matter the connection they had, it was special. Christopher made her transition to the U.S a lot easier than it would have been otherwise. He helped her fit in and experience things – normal things that she wouldn't have given the time for herself. She'd always be grateful.

She found Christopher already waiting at the small café they agreed upon by Capitol South. Ziva came around into the patio area; adjusting the coat she was wearing before leaning over to embrace him from behind. Her freshly washed curls cascaded and tickled his skin – a feeling he only realized he missed when he felt it. "Morning," he whispered before putting a hand on the arms around him.

"I am sorry that I am late," she apologized. She removed her arms from around him after a moment and moved toward the seat opposite him. He had already ordered by the looks of it, since there were no menus, and she couldn't have been more pleased. It had been a hectic morning and all she wanted was the perfect croissant with a cup of coffee. "Have you been waiting long?"

Chris shook his head, straightening up in his seat. "About fifteen minutes, but I just ordered."

She offered him a small friendly smile. "The usual?" They had made a routine of coming to the café early on in their relationship but it had been a while. Ziva hadn't found a way to talk to him about the way she had been feeling – or not feeling. She wasn't sure what made it so difficult to just be honest with him about everything like she had with Tony less than a week ago. Maybe there was more on the line here; she'd be lying if she didn't think it was a lot to risk and make complicated.

"Yeah, I thought that's what you'd want." Chris set his phone aside and reached for her hand, playing with her fingers as he often had. Ziva had never minded it and this morning was no different. "I feel like I haven't seen you in forever," his tone sounded defeated and

Ziva's face fell slightly at that. She hooked her fingers around a few of his and offered a small smile. That was definitely a way to get right into it, she figured. She'd need her morning coffee before having that discussion. To be fair it was only 8 A.M and no one would have blamed her for her hesitation. "I know," she collected her thoughts. "Things have been pretty busy and I'm still training Claire. We had this huge mess last week with scheduling and the Secretary almost missed a conference. I do not know why it wasn't on the calendar, but then Tony and his partner showed up and – "

"Ziva," he stopped her. Christopher knew that she could go on for hours if given the opportunity to.

She lips parted to release a small sigh before she agreed with him, "You're right. It is not important." A young waitress came out into the outdoor seating area with a tray, forcing Ziva and Christopher to pull apart and make some space for their order. Ziva's eyes lit up at the sight of her freshly made hazelnut latte once it was placed on the table. She reached for it eagerly, bringing it to her lips without considering its extremely hot temperature and then paying the price. A strange sounding whine escaped her throat at the burn but it was not enough to keep her from pulling in for another sip.

Chris laughed for the first time that morning then, a huge grin spreading across his face as he shook his head at the sight of her. She always managed to surprise him by having the smallest silliest habits despite being the mysterious and independent woman she always presented herself as. "You were the kid that got told not to stick anything in the electric socket, got electrocuted and then did it again, weren't you?" He teased her.

Ziva started then hesitating, lips parting and then closing. The sight repeated until she was satisfied with an answer for him. "I was building up my pain tolerance," she tossed with a simple shrug of the shoulder. It was not necessarily a lie; Ziva did a lot of strange things as a child but it made her a better Mossad operative at the end of the day.

He raised his eyebrows at her, considering asking for more information but decided it was best to embrace her strange habits rather than question them. "Right," Christopher nodded his head and let out another laugh. "Like all the other kids."

"I am not strange."

"Nope," Chris supplied after taking his croissant into his mouth. Like the many others he had ordered in the past, it tasted much too delicious for him to argue with her over. He'd agree with anything and everything Ziva said as long as he had a heated ham and cheese croissant in his possession. Ziva eyed him carefully before turning her attention to her own breakfast while she still had the time. She pulled her coat sleeve up to glance at the time, not saying whether she had to go soon so Christopher didn't ask. "You said you saw Tony," he added suddenly and Ziva looked up to meet his eyes.

She nodded slowly and slowed her chewing. It was inevitable that he'd start to question their newfound friendship or whatever it was that they were doing. She wasn't quite clear and neither was Tony. They didn't talk about it per say, but it was clear they were just rolling with the punches. "The Director of NCIS sent him last week when the whole calendar issue happened," she shared vaguely. "We were the security detail at the same conference so it gave us some time to get to know each other, I guess. He is…interesting, yes?" the Israeli concluded before bringing the caffeinated beverage to her lips again.

"He wasn't sure how you felt about him."

Naturally her eyes narrowed at that, unsure of what he meant by that. It was unclear what his intentions were with the choice of conversation and it made her a little uneasy. She never liked discussions she was unprepared for. Her tongue ran over her teeth slowly as she pondered what could come out of this before treading along slowly. "My father used to say I do not play well with others. But he _is_ your best friend; I'm trying." Ziva decided in that moment that the rest was best left unsaid and by the look he gave her in reply it didn't seem like she had to elaborate. "I should go before I'm late," she wrapped the rest of her croissant in a napkin before rising from her seat.

Chris rose with her, giving her a moment to adjust her coat and her curls from roaming wildly before handing her the remainder of her coffee. "I don't know what time I'll be getting home from the office tonight, but maybe we can have dinner?" He offered the potential and she met him half way.

"Just call me and let me know." Though she couldn't wrap her arms around his neck, her hands occupied with breakfast and coffee, she settled for stepping as close as she could against him and pressing her lips gently against his. "Thank you for breakfast," she mumbled without a thought to retreat. Christopher settled his fingers in her hair and nodded before taking advantage of their close proximity again. "I have to go," Ziva reminded him quietly.

She watched him pull back regretfully but understand. "I'll call you," he promised quickly before she went on her way. A few steps away from the café, Ziva glanced over her shoulder to find his eyes once again. Her cool features softened into something warmer – the ends of her lips curling slightly. The last he saw of her that morning was the sight of her dark brown curls bouncing against the wool textured coat that hugged her curves.

* * *

><p>McGee sometimes considered putting money on how late Tony was going to be that morning, and for once he would've been wrong. Unfortunately so, the Italian came rushing in later than he's ever pulled off. He could already feel the foreshadowing Gibbs slap that would grace his presence in due time and leave a tingling sensation against the back of his head. It never did matter how well he had styled his hair that morning. His most prized possession always ran the possibility of being compromised.<p>

He weighed the pros and cons of coming in so late, but reasoned it was better than nothing at all. In fact, he was sure Gibbs would end up sending a search team after him if he had decided to take off a day the last minute. He couldn't even remember the last time he had a day off. March or June. He couldn't be sure of the year. Tony took the plunge into the elevator before the doors closed in his face and he'd have to wait for the next one. Though his quickness should have received some positive acknowledgement, the Italian was met with disregarding glares before all of the Navy personnel returned to their phones and files in hand. "Morning to you too," Tony announced to the other occupants before turning on his heels and facing the door. The weight of his backpack made sure to – almost purposefully – pull down on his right shoulder.

"It's almost noon, DiNozzo," he heard a collegiate huff at him in passing as he exited onto his designated floor. Tony's eyes darted to his watch for confirmation as his brain registered the information. _I'm dead meat. _He found that knowing exactly what was about to happen to him was no more comforting than not knowing at all when it came to Gibbs. He darted out of the elevator as soon as it got to the floor he had requested, ending up at a short sprint until he ended up at his desk. "Hey, boss – oh," he exhaled in his absence.

Tony let his backpack fall quietly off of his shoulder and land at the foot of his desk, eyeing McGee suspiciously when he didn't turn around to inquire as to his tardiness right away. He slid into his chair and let out a nervous sigh in response to the lack of Gibbs at the throne from which he usually barked his orders. "It's almost noon, Tony." McGee finally glanced his way, though his fingertips never left the keyboard. He, unlike the Italian, had already spent all morning catching up on unfinished reports. The perks of being a probie were vast, indeed.

"Yeah. You know, Carter let me in on that in the elevator." He flipped an unfinished file open before relaxing back into his chair. "Where's Gibbs?"

"Up with the Director," His partner replied without any serious thought. "What's wrong with you, Tony?" McGee left his workload for a minute, turning his chair to face the Italian and leaning an elbow on the end of his desk. He couldn't place it exactly, but there was something definitely different about him. He'd been thinking about it all week, but his speculations had not yielded any useful information yet.

Tony brushed off the question with a slightly teasing smile. "Are you worried about me, McGoo?"

The agent in front of him shrugged his shoulders in response, raising his eyebrows at him in clear waiting for an answer. Not knowing had been bothering him more than he would have liked to admit. "Other than the fact that you have been showing up late all week, Abby and I haven't heard you talk about a new girl you've been out with in over two weeks. And don't get me wrong – I don't come into work with the aspirations of hearing your newest conquest stories, but…" He faltered, and the Italian picked up where he left off.

"But you've lost the will to live without my narratives?" He beamed at him, choosing to finally rise from his seat and walk over to the younger agent. The Irishman stared back at him clearly frustrated. "I've been hanging out with someone," Tony admitted casually once his arms came to rest over his chest. There was no clearer sign than his body language in how territorial he quickly became over the vague subject.

McGee shook his head and let out a short laugh in disbelief. "You don't 'hang out' with people, Tony," he argued. Considering the time he had worked alongside the Italian, he hadn't seen Tony take the time out of his schedule to get together with friends. At some point, he came around to the idea that his father probably instilled in him the idea that DiNozzo men didn't shouldn't have friends unless they were women. And even then, they wouldn't have been simply friends – they'd serve their purpose a time or two. Although he'd never met Tony's father, it seemed plausible amongst everyone he had consulted on the subject.

The Italian stared back silently for a minute, a hand placed on his chest to signify just how appalled felt at the suggestion. "I have friends, McGee. You're my friend," he pointed out with a waved palm. McGee tried to flush the judgmental look playing on his face long enough to take him seriously on his unwavering argument. After a minute, he took in a deep breath and nodded – Tony wasn't really going to sleaze his way out of this one. "Besides," Tony continued with, "She's…different." He let him in reluctantly. Different – like a Bond Girl he found extremely attractive yet was utterly terrified of at the same time.

"I knew it was a girl," His admission finally caught his attention. "So, it's serious?" He pushed again for further detail. After all, it had been a couple of weeks and Tony hadn't mentioned a thing about her. He had kept to himself, done most of his work on time, and had stayed clear of any Gibbs slaps for his eyes hovering over a witness for too long or jumping at the opportunity to interview a grieving but hot girlfriend.

Tony shook his head lightly in response, making sure to pull the loose strands of hair back in their place after silently rejecting the probationary agent's claim. "Ziva and I are just friends." The statement made him want to do nothing but laugh at himself. He had stopped using that little excuse even before he and Christopher got shipped off to school together. It was probably a little juvenile even for him, but he went with it anyway. His hazel eyes glanced over to find McGee's pointed expression and he could do nothing but loosen his collar to prepare himself for the limitless amount of questions he was going to endure for letting it slip that he had been spending time with Ziva all along.

"You're seeing Chris' girlfriend?" McGee stared at him dumbfounded. "The most intimidating woman I've ever met in my life who, I swear, wanted nothing to do with you two weeks ago?"

"Hanging out," he quickly corrected. "We're just hanging out, McGee."

"Your best friend's girlfriend," McGee made clear.

Tony ran his tongue over his teeth becoming quickly frustrated. There was no way he was going to take someone like McGee judging him on something that wasn't even technically happening. He wasn't doing anything wrong. After all, Christopher wanted him to get to know Ziva and he was doing just that. Nothing had happened between them; he had to remind himself of the fact that those arrangements were best too often. "Coffee never killed anyone." _I should know. _

"The coffee won't," he quickly agreed before adding an honest remark that drained the color in Tony's face for a good minute. "But Chris might."

The probie in front of him was right, but Tony was too stubborn to admit it. He had, for weeks now, set aside the admission that he had been playing with fire starting from the night he met her. Now, that wasn't necessarily his fault – he didn't know who she was, but it quickly transpired into something more. From a consistency of discomfort and almost hatred came amusement and tension, both stages that the Italian wore well in demeanor. Tony clicked his tongue a few times before responding, "I'm feeling like coffee. You want some?" He began walking backwards, snuck his hand around his chair to grab his coat, and continued toward the elevator. He made his escape from the uncomfortable heart-to-heart while he had the chance.

* * *

><p>It wasn't until Ziva had made it down at least a block that the weight on her shoulders of looking back at Christopher began to subside. But their newfound awkwardness continued to eat away at her the further she got, sips of the cold coffee in her hand being the only noise that muted out her thoughts at every few steps. Maybe she just wasn't ready. Her lips parted briefly for an intake of breath while her arms pulled reassuringly at the wool around her. <em>Maybe my father was right<em>, she silently convinced herself. Sometimes, it had been easier being the Mossad assassin he had trained her to be - the one that everyone came to fear. Sometimes, it helped her run away from the reality that she refused to accept. Ziva realized then how much she failed to appreciate the escape her bad habits once allowed. The running.

The Israeli made it into the government building just as dazed. Her curls settled freely around her face and shoulders, individual strands clinging here and there to the warm material of her overcoat. Ziva smiled faintly at the security guard in passing, then scanned her identification card and made a sharp right toward the elevators. Her hand took a swing toward the trashcan outside of their division doors once she arrived, the recently finished drink landing soundly within the silver confines, before she pushed past the doors. Her brown eyes settled on the frantic woman occupying every inch of her desk surface.

"Claire," she let out finally. Ziva had never been one for messes – figuratively or literally – so it overwhelmed her to just take it in. "Remind me to never take a morning off," she all but muttered to herself as she came around the desk to settle her things in hopes that an explanation would soon grace her ears.

The petite blonde responded with a shaky sigh, leaning back into the leather chair to support herself in the moment of derailment. "There's just been some things going back and forth with the White House this morning, and the Secretary has a conference with the Director of NCIS soon. He'll be at the Navy Yard the rest of the day. I'm a little…behind," Claire let out the breath she didn't realize she was holding before a faint smile brightened her features. "This job starts to feel a tad overwhelming when you aren't in the office," she admitted generously.

Ziva couldn't help the way the ends of her lips curled at the compliment. Her heavy eyes focused to the floor, accepting the sweet remark graciously, before collecting the havoc Claire had manufactured in front o her. "I'll take care of some of these things before the Secretary needs to head to NCIS. The other officers are out on assignment?"

Claire nodded in response, her face going immediately sour again. They were extremely understaffed at the moment, so much that she often wondered how Ziva always managed to keep herself calm and collected.

"It is fine," Ziva assured her. "There shouldn't be anything coming in once I escort Secretary Pratt out for the rest of the day. Everything will work itself out; it always does." She darted her eyes in the direction of the young woman's desk, a cue for her to take on the work that she could manage while Ziva worked out the rest. It was at least one situation handled. Ziva slid into her own chair, keying in her log in information on the screen with one hand and taking the phone on her desk in another. She decided to focus on that instead of the fortune cookie advice she had just given to her associate. She was conforming to America in the most cookie cutter ways, it seemed.

She'd lost track of the numerous e-mails and favors she'd called in by the end of the hour, but it had been enough. Things were beginning to settle around the office, so Ziva pulled the phone away from her ear just in time to check on Claire. Though she was still diligently working, her face and body weren't as tense anymore. Her shoulders had fallen and began to relax with every steady breath she exhaled. "You are alive, yes?" The Israeli teased her lightly. Though it was her nature to toy with someone when they were down, something told her that Claire wouldn't take to it as absent-mindedly as those before her. So Ziva treaded lightly.

"How are things with Christopher?" She asked her suddenly. Ziva was taken aback; she had forgotten that Claire remembered more about their relationship than she herself did sometimes. In fact, their relationship had become her favorite topic to discuss as she had little to nothing going on with herself personally. Ziva's growing romance had been her salvation and the Israeli had not dared to take that away from her.

Ziva chewed on her bottom lip, not knowing how to describe their most recent encounter. The food was good, she considered. "We had breakfast this morning." That didn't sound any better in her head than it had once the words left her lips. Claire eyed her suspiciously, taking in the most basic statement she could have possibly made.

"And?"

Ziva fought against an eye roll. "And the coffee and croissant were delicious." She twisted her body in her chair so that she could face the woman before proceeding. "We just may have had a small stiff about my busy schedule, and my 'relationship' with Tony."

"_Tiff_, you had a tiff." Claire clarified before letting out a small laugh; the Israeli woman in front of her never failed to amuse her with her misuse of the English language. Instead of ridicule, she always gave her the benefit of a doubt – knowing she had more languages under her belt than a couple of the staff members in the office combined. She paused, the last of her sentence finally registering. "Wait. Your _relationship _with Tony?"

Ziva shook her head of curls, fingers naturally playing with the bottom buttons of her blouse. "I have only seen him in a professional capacity," she quickly defended. "And at Christopher's family dinner. The latter was clearly out of my hands."

"He looked at you, you know." Ziva's eyes narrowed a centimeter naturally at the mention. "The one time he was here," Claire went on recalling the hectic morning. "The other agent beside him looked a little terrified, which I've come to know is a normal reaction for people when they meet you. But he couldn't take his eyes off you."

"Perhaps it is because he made a fool of himself at dinner," Ziva shut her down without a second thought. The blonde shook her head in a no before Ziva denied her again. "This is not a romance novel."

A disappointed sigh. "But, Ziva."

She pushed her chair back into its standard position, her curls coming to her rescue then by shielding the confusion clearly displayed on her face. It was her own to bear. "Do not be silly," Ziva let out softy before finishing an unfinished memo on her screen.

Her schedule allowed her just enough time to finish what she had set aside for herself to work on before the Secretary was ready to go. The computer mouse hovered over the 'SEND' button when Secretary Pratt to approach her desk. The memo was sent out before he greeted her professionally and she rose quickly with at a grab at her necessitates – her coat, badge and weapon that usually hugged her hip. "I have my phone if you need me," she reminded the recently rescued damsel in distress before ushering the Secretary into the lobby.

* * *

><p>Ziva delivered the Secretary to the Navy Yard grounds in record time. After she found a convenient spot in the outside lot, the Israeli officer escorted Pratt into the building. They rode up the elevator together, sharing it with a few other NCIS agents and analysts before they arrived on the main orange colored floor. She immediately wondered how they could work in between the strangely shaded walls before refocusing her attention on delivering Pratt to Director Shepard safely.<p>

He halted her at the start of the stairs, pulling out of the entangled thoughts that had been occupying her mind since they'd left for the conference. "I think I got it from here, Officer David." Her brown eyes met her superior's quickly, seeing he was taking a tease at the obviousness of it all. He liked to take a light approach to many things, something he knew Ziva David lacked. In spite of her weakness in the cuddly department, he admired her diligence and loyalty. She was one of the best he'd had.

"Are you sure, Mr. Secretary?" They were inside a highly secured building, but the woman in front of him was never one to play the chances. The silent nod he gave her allowed her to retreat, offering an understanding smile in return.

The dark haired man began up the stairs, a hand on the railing. Before he got to the second set, however, he turned back to remark his officer who had only taken a few steps back from their point of separation. "I'll be a while," he reminded her and Ziva took notice to take the time for some correspondence and other paperwork catch up.

The Israeli turned on her heels and looked around the floor. Her eyes scanned the area for an empty desk, one she would gladly occupy and make hers for the rest of the day. She settled on one right in front of her – it stood alone, undecorated so Ziva made her mark. The heels of her dark colored combat boots moved along the carpeted floor as she came around the bullpen wall that came up right below her shoulder. Her eyes settled on a single agent siting at the very end, a familiar face. "Hello, Agent McGee." Unknowingly, Ziva pressed her side against Tony's currently unoccupied desk as she greeted the Navy cop.

Too focused on his work, the Irishman didn't look up immediately. His eyes met hers a few beats later and he retracted his fingers from his keyboard and his focus from the screen. "Officer David," he addressed her formally. "I didn't know you were here."

Her fingers played with a few discarded post-its on the desk she had been using for a cushion. "Please, call me Ziva." The thin line of her lips spread into a tiny smile and McGee's intimidation of the women eased for the first time. "Secretary Pratt has a conference with your Director for the remainder of the day. I am going to be here a while, so I would like to get some work done," she declared then before straightening up. "Is that desk available?" Her thumb pointed over her right shoulder.

"Uh," the young agent's mouth opened without a clear indication. He glanced around for their fearless leader who had not yet made an appearance – so the probie was left to make the decision on his own. "I'm sure that's fine." Ziva noted how uncomfortable he was around her – nervous – but decided to give him the benefit of a doubt. All she wanted was a desk for the day.

"I promise I will not overstay my welcome," the young Israeli officer promised him before turning swiftly on her feet. Her legs, however, only allowed her a single step as she was met face to face with a taller gray haired agent in front of her. The coffee cup in his grasp faltered and Ziva secured it within seconds. Her ninja skill set always had its way of coming out to shine. "I – I did not see you there," she offered quietly.

They stood in silence a moment while Gibbs studied her. Her features highly resembled someone he had been acquainted with but he couldn't place it. "Is that so?" Her powerful brown eyes stared back at him unrelenting, not backing down in intimidation.

"Yes," she responded with just as much strength.

"Boss," McGee rose from his chair. He abandoned his desk and came around to the front of the bullpen to introduce the woman. "This is Officer David; she's one of the Secretary of Defense's security detail officers," the younger agent explained in hopes of lightening the encounter. It was always a tense one when someone came into direct contact with Gibbs' beloved cup of coffee.

"Ziva," she extended her hand to him. It remained unmet while Gibbs raised the coffee in hand – lid secured – and studied her. She would have been lying if the encounter didn't make the uncomfortable in the tiniest bit. Her confidence waivered as Ziva decided to lower her hand back to her side and stand her ground. _Nice to meet you too_, she silently mocked still waiting on the silver fox in front of her.

Gibbs only grunted, taking the opportunity to move past the petite woman with a fierce personality toward his desk. "You look just like your father," he mentioned in passing. The coffee cup settled on the edge of his desk while Ziva turned around to face him again.

"You know my father?" She inquired, immediately interested. Her feet allowed her four steps closer to the unnamed man before they were face to face again. Though she had initially asked the question, Ziva became quickly disinterested in bringing up the past – her past. She had not spoken to her father in some time, and being compared to him out of the blue made her stir in her own skin. Gibbs noted her discomfort with the topic and overlooked it casually so as to not bring up any questions from McGee.

"Make yourself at home, Officer Da-veed," he told her with a nod toward the desk adjacent to his. Ziva nodded in appreciation and moved to the empty desk at her side, quickly removing her coat and draping over the back of the provided chair. Once her frame settled on the cushioned seat, Ziva pulled at the edge of the desk to bring herself closer and begin accessing the computer network.

The Israeli settled into the background to allow Gibbs and McGee their space. She listened as they bounced ideas off one another, discussing some of their currently opened cases that required new leads and potential suspects. Her mind got quickly accustomed to hearing the older man bark orders and questions while watching the younger man stutter and nervously provide hypothetical answers for him. He reminded her somewhat of Claire at the moment, and she allowed the thought to amuse her until a pair of feet made it into the bullpen frantically.

A deep gasp escaped the man's lips as he came to a drastic stop, having just enough time to open his mouth before Gibbs questioned his whereabouts in a not-so-quiet tone. "Where have you been, DiNozzo?" He raised an eyebrow at him, waiting.

Tony stared back at him cautiously, expecting the back of his hand to meet the back of the Italian's head in a matter of seconds. "What do you mean, boss? I've been here. Just went out to get some coffee and lunch for probie, here. And – uh – for you, of course." He was so focused on thinking on his feet he failed to see the curly haired former Mossad officer sitting at the usually unoccupied desk to his left.

"I didn't see you complaining at your desk at 0700 this morning," Gibbs settled face to face with his loyal St. Bernard. He eyed the coffee and packaged lunch suspiciously and pulled it out of Tony's grasp before he had a chance to blink.

Tony offered him a shrug, a nervous grin making an appearance on his features. "I mean, time is pretty relative. Isn't it?" He let out a classic yelp in response to the friction Gibbs' hand gave him just above the back of his neck. "I deserved that," Tony added in a mumble. His eyes followed the direction his desired coffee was headed, finally noting Ziva's appearance.

She had witnessed the entire exchange, failing to keep an overpowering smirk from marking her usually stoic face. "Hello, Tony." She all but purred his name, finding it was the first time she had felt content all morning.

"What did NCIS do to get you to grace us with your presence, Ziva?" He turned so quickly to look at her that he was sure he had pulled a muscle. He'd regret it tomorrow morning upon waking, but it was worth seeing her. Before responding, Ziva pushed the hot cup of coffee on her desk of the day away from her in an offer for him. He eyed it carefully, not knowing whether the caffeinated beverage was worth another Gibbs slap. When he was sure one wasn't coming, he accepted the cup graciously and offered her a classic smile in thanks.

A glance to the computer screen in front of her kept her from granting him an answer immediately. The intrigue sparkled too brightly in his eyes so Ziva decided not to draw it out. "I am here on business," she said simply at first. "Secretary Pratt," she elaborated with an almost unnoticeable nod toward the Director's office. "I hope you do not mind."

Their discrete affair came to an abrupt halt when Gibbs moved past them with McGee on his heels. "Boss?" Tony questioned, glancing at the two heading for the elevator.

"That stack of reports better be done when we get back," he warned him without a look. "Or it's your ass, DiNozzo." The two field agents disappeared into the elevator then, leaving Tony and his new companion alone in the bullpen to tend to their own affairs. Gibbs wouldn't have trusted Tony with a woman who looked like Ziva on any other day of the week, but he knew her father well. He knew of him, his methods, and the stealthy warriors that he trained. Ziva David could handle him; he had decided that the moment that they exchanged their hellos, though he was distantly curious at their apparent – unaddressed - acquaintance with each other.

Ziva's eyes glistened in the sunroof's overcasting as she watched the uneasy Italian in front of her. "You have work to do, yes?" Tony responded with a sip at the coffee she had returned into his possession, reminding her of his boss' previous gesture during their first encounter.

"I think you just wanted to see me today," he mused aloud in the direction of his desk. "It's that Italian charm." He settled in at his desk, glancing ahead at her. It had been so long since he'd seen someone sitting at that desk. It had kept him somewhat focused over the course of the past year – in between his movie references and teasing stabs at McGee. So today, he silently declared, was his day to indulge. And what a perfect day he had picked. Because every time his hazel eyes hovered over his computer screen, he took in the exotic curls and judgmental eyes that sometimes caught his.

Ziva hummed in response, her chin inching forward and eyes sliding into a more narrow shape. _Hm_. it was the last sound she granted him before forcing them to both focus on their own assignments for the next couple of hours. The Italian fell off the production train, away from his steady progress eventually. He took the initiative in the silence to toss a crumpled sheet of paper or blowing a balled up scrap through a straw in her direction.

She bounced from the straw firing and caught the crumpled piece of paper that came her way, eyeing him dangerously. Tony held his breath in response to the icy stare. "Your ninja senses must be tingling," he commented on her abilities. "You weren't even looking that time."

"Perhaps you underestimate me," Ziva offered before tossing the balled up paper right back. Her eyes remained trained on him in the process and a triumphant smile appeared when she heard the swooshing sound the ball produced to announce its landing into the waste basket by the Italian's desk.

Tony raised a brow, almost threatened by her skills. He'd let her have that – the girl could shoot. "Perhaps," The Italian eventually drew out in agreement.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **

**I'm back! Finals are Monday and Wednesday, but I managed to finally get chapter 6 together since it's way past due. :) Longest chapter I've written thus far, as I hope that makes up for the prolonged wait. Enjoy! Enjoy! Enjoy!**


	7. Chapter 7

The remainder of the day brought along a stream of productivity. Too shocking if Tony had pondered over the realization at some point. And it was a face that Tony wore well – productive – but Ziva knew that he was the joke cracker of the team. He did have some good ideas for potential leads though; she would've given him that if she were included in the power play unraveling in front of her in the bullpen. Though every intellectual point was followed up by a verbal stab at McGee or a reference to a film that the Italian had seen at some point in his life that reminded him of the investigation they were dealing with.

At some point, Tony had stolen the clicker from McGee. His obnoxious grin was, although contagious, also irritating to those around him as he settled shoulder to shoulder with the younger agent. "Look at that shot," he clicked to slide past a few more crime scene shots. They had grown to be so unaffected by the scenes they processed; it was both a talent and an emotional curse. "Peter Parker's nothing on me. Tony DiNozzo Jr. would give him a run for his money," the Italian selfishly shared. Tim found that a silent roll of the eyes would suffice in response.

Through it all, the curly haired Israeli had managed to make herself scarce. The three men had almost forgotten she had been occupying their one and only empty desk until she rolled her eyes too dramatically to hold in a comment. "Must everything with you be movie related?" her head rolled and lips parted to allow a slight groan.

"Are you mocking Spiderman, Zee-vah?"

"Spiderman is a superhero, Tony. And you….are you," she finished dryly. Her brown eyes settled on his form, watching as he struggled to hide the extent to which her comment got under his skin. "I do not find it to be a fair comparison," Ziva added the quick remark.

"Well, you're right. I'm far better looking," he beamed at her with a classic grin that she returned a quiet scoff at. "You know, Chris loves movies."

"I am well aware." Though the response came smoothly, the mention of Christopher made her shoulders stiffen. Ziva had just begun to set those complications aside for the day when Tony drew her back in unknowingly. "What is the saying – opposites attract, yes?" Daddy's perfect warrior always knew how to bounce back.

McGee watched them engage in a dance of wits for a second too long, giving the bossman an opportunity for an outburst of irritation. He settled both hands on his desk, leaning forward with a slight turn of the head for a silent but deadly glare. His stoic expression never wavered. Ziva would never forget how nervous he made her; there was something in him that reminded her of her father. "Are you two done doing _whatever_ it is you're doing?"

Ziva's lips collapsed into a straight line in response to the questioning, jaw tight and expression sealed. She suddenly felt like she and Tony had gotten in trouble with the principal on her first day of school. A bad first impression. He didn't know much about her and she didn't know the first thing about him. The Israeli straightened in her seat, finding it wise to offer the agent something of value before he completely disregarded her and her capabilities. "I have some international contacts that owe me a favor." When Gibbs didn't decline her offer right away, she continued. "Maybe the person whose MO you're looking for has been on their radar. Mossad does have eyes and ears everywhere."

McGee beamed at the chance of getting his hands on extra intelligence. "That'd be great!" He exclaimed his excitement, the fact he wasn't running lead on the matter quickly evading his mind. When it finally came to him, Tim stirred and chewed on his lip before turning to a silent Gibbs. "I-I mean, Ziva could be really helpful, boss." He glanced to Tony for backup, but the usually relentless agent hesitated. He'd been in enough trouble with Gibbs for the day. He didn't need another head slap.

An undefined look came from Gibbs before admitting they could use the help, "Do it."

McGee moved over to his desk quickly, forgetting the need to continue on with the slide show of crime scene photos that they had been going through for the last twenty minutes in search of things they may have missed. His fingers eagerly clattered over the keyboard keys, glancing at his desktop screen from time to time. "You should be getting this in a few minutes. It's all we have."

The Israeli across the room returned a nod, turning her attention to the computer screen she had deemed hers for the day. Their uncomfortable silence was cut generously short when Gibbs' phone vibrated in his pocket. His two men glanced his way while Ziva's eyes remained trained elsewhere. Her cell phone was already at her ear, listening to the dial tone before a foreigner picked up. She began with her formalities in Hebrew and continued on. "C'mon, they found another body." Gibbs moved along, giving Ziva a discrete nod of appreciation in passing.

She watched them pass by her, judging from the looks of it that they were headed toward the elevator for the parking garage. She mouthed, "I will let you know," and turned her attention back to the international caller.

Tony slowed a few steps, leaving him in Gibbs' blind spot to get away with some unprofessional, but oh so DiNozzo, behavior. His fingers tapped lightly on the surface of the desk she occupied, grabbing her attention instantly. "Thanks, sweetcheeks." She should have scoffed, and the fact she didn't left her wondering why. Instead of dramatically retaliating at his classically coined comment, Ziva stared after him with a slightly parted mouth. A breath caught in her throat.

The Italian was the last to make it in, stopping with his back to the door and hand holding a black backpack steadily against his right shoulder. Gibbs' stare would have burned through his forehead if he had such capabilities. It made Tony all the more hesitant to look up at the superior officer. He was silent, and the younger agent knew that he'd be worse off if nothing was said at all. "Her father's a dangerous man, DiNozzo." Though the words came, relief never did.

"I'm not seeing her," he muttered a bit too sadly under his breath. McGee scoffed at the remark, but was quickly scolded with an icy glare. They left it at that.

Within minutes they were gone and Ziva found that she'd forgotten to exhale. Breathe out, breathe in and start again. The empty bullpen left her exposed and pondering what exactly was unraveling between them. She'd have enough time to think about it now as being on the phone with a few of her contacts scattered around the world would take the rest of the evening. Her father was and would always be her last resort.

* * *

><p>McGee and Gibbs had returned at some point after the sun began to set. The landline was stuck to her ear just as they had left it when they disappeared to investigate the uncovering of another body in the Rock Creek Park area. Ziva watched the younger – previously intimidated – agent smile at her in thanks and she unnaturally returned the gesture. While she had become accustomed to the more carefree to friendly demeanor of American culture and society, she still wore it uncomfortably. But there was something about him. There was something warm, just as there had been about Tony when she gave him more than a millisecond of her time. A small smile crept through, decorating her usually worn warrior persona that she never allowed anyone to see through.<p>

The stoic sniper beside her had even shown her a gentler side. It seemed every time he walked past and found her still sitting at the previously abandoned desk his harsh exterior cracked away bit by bit. Ziva quickly grabbed a post-it out of the left drawer before he had gathered all of his necessities to head out for the evening. "Bevasha lehafsik!" She cut off an unidentified voice on the other end of the line. _Hold on._ Her fingers pushed forward a recently scribbled on post-it note after covering the phone's receiver end. "It is not everything, but it is something," Ziva offered. Her brown eyes watched a genuine look of appreciation appear across his eyes. It had been enough.

The call ended shortly, but it was just another one on the list. Not that she was complaining; Ziva had spent the majority of her day at NCIS and since she wasn't actively standing guard for the Secretary of Defense she was glad she could directly contribute in another way around the agency. If it were not for team Gibbs and their lack of leads, she would have gone insane. Or worse. "I have e-mailed you some information, McGee." Her announcement prompted a head raise from the man.

"I can't believe you're still here," he shared honestly. The Irishman's coat was already resting over his shoulders, his monitor shut down for the night. "I'm always the last one out."

Ziva nodded in understanding and then released a careless shrug. "Secretary Pratt left with Director Shepard about a half hour ago," that earned a slight eyebrow raise that requested further explaining. "He is in good hands, I'm sure. I just wanted to run over all of my contacts before I go."

"Run _through_," he quickly amended and the Israeli's lips parted before her head bobbed.

Ziva leaned back in her seat, exhaling aloud to keep herself awake. It had just been an exhausting process. "Forgive me," her cheeks gained some color in either embarrassment or annoyance – Tim wasn't sure. "English is my sixth language."

"You never seize to amaze me," he shared with her wholeheartedly and something in Ziva's stomach flipped. This is what it must feel like to have real friends – people who care, she mused silently.

Her toughness fought and won the battle over not supplying a stereotypical 'thank you' and smile for the man. It was not Ziva, not her nature. The brightness of her features was enough to assure the young man that she was moved by his words. "Has Tony left?" She heard herself ask suddenly. It was strange, to say the least. She was curious about him, curious about his whereabouts when they were nothing more than acquaintances.

McGee remained standing in front of her desk, "Locker room, I think. He lost a game of rock, paper, scissors to me and had to go dumpster hopping for evidence. It was a pretty smelly sight afterwards." He stifled a laugh and decided it best he get out of the office as soon as possible before the Italian found him cackling over one of his darkest moments. "We really appreciate all of your help, Ziva."

Her ears caught, "have a good night," coming from over the slim field agent's shoulder and she smiled in affirmation to herself. This was what it was like to have good people in her life, even if she didn't know absolutely everything about them. Only a beat later, Ziva returned to grasping the phone and dialing another number. A contact in Brussels was next on the list.

Tony returned to the bullpen to find the curly haired brunette still occupying the claimed desk. The phone was resting between her cheek and shoulder, fingers of one hand wrapped in a few of her heavy curls while the other hovered over the desktop mouse. Her eyes were too trained on the screen to acknowledge his presence. Teasingly appalled at her lack of attention, the Italian came around her to rest against an edge of a back table that helped keep the walls of the bullpen up and separated. Ziva's brown eyes made it into his direction then, body stiffening at his arm landing suddenly on the back of her chair. She noted his change of attire, the more casual look. He was wearing a worn out pair of jeans and an Ohio State University sweatshirt that she guessed kept him reliving his college years. The typical fraternity boy uniform, she presumed.

Ziva opened her mouth to argue when he leaned in to her. "N-no; do not put me on hold. Do you know who this is? I promise you that if you even think about putting me on hold one more time – " The seasonal tracks started playing again and all she had left to do was huff and clench her jaw.

The Italian-bred agent smirked behind her, an amused expression that was contagious for anyone in its close proximity. Anyone but her, he now knew. Ziva turned to look over her shoulder again, silently observing his hung head waiting for her attention. "You're still here," his voice was just above a whisper.

"You're a genius," she returned just as quietly with a pair of raised eyebrows to mock him. The uncomfortable silence between them pushed her to continue, holiday music blasting in one of her ears. "This is my last call and then I will be out of your hair."

"Huh," he tucked an arm under his chin, "You got that one right." His stretched his legs out below him, one ankle resting on the other while she continued to hold on the line. "Is the Secretary still here?"

Ziva shook her head, responding absently. "No," and she was sure she'd have to answer as to why she was still at the Navy Yard at all in that case. "But I offered Gibbs my help."

She pretended to ignore the way in which he stared at her after that. Silently his hazel eyes took all of her in, trying to remember everything about her – how stiffly her shoulders remained when she was nervous, the slow motion with which she blinked her full lashes. Just the two of them remained on the entire floor apart from the night shift agents who always disappeared into the darkness of the night. "Hang up, Ziva."

"What?" Her furrowed eyebrows came to face him with the help of a quick turn of the neck. His hand gently tugged the phone away from her shoulder's grasp and to his surprise she allowed it willingly. Despite the ease, her fiery eyes watched him closely until he retired the phone into its original position on the desk. "That was an international call."

It should've meant a hell of a lot more than his shrug registered, but he was the fun loving and carefree DiNozzo after all. "McGee sent me a text saying you already got us a few records to sort through tomorrow. And you don't even work here," his lighthearted observation was meant to be a thank you and she took it as much. "You have plans?" Tony asked suddenly, pushing away from the personal space he'd been invading and coming around to settle in front of her.

"Not that I know of." Ziva hadn't heard from Chris all day and it was well into the evening, but she just assumed he hadn't tried getting in contact with her. He often worked late and she didn't always get to see him when she wanted. It was another one of their issues in the past weeks that had been pushing them further and further away from one another. "What are you suggesting?" She questioned cautiously.

"I'll be back," the Italian turned eagerly on his heels and headed into a direction she hadn't yet explored in her time at the agency. Ziva did not question him, something she quickly regretted. She rose to her feet and came around to settle at the front edge of the desk, her eyes narrowed in confusion as he disappeared through a doorway. A few sounds came moments later that she couldn't decipher; what ate away at her most was that she did not know what he was up to. Tony left her blind and all the irritated Israeli could do was rock back and forth with a stressed jaw until he returned.

* * *

><p>She was growing restless when Tony made his return to the squad room, hands balancing a variety of packaged snacks and cold beverages because he wasn't sure what she preferred. He was met with her confused expression, one that he couldn't help but smile at – sometimes her being lost at the most socially acceptable and enjoyable things was just as rewarding as the activities themselves. Ziva let him go on in silence; she watched him grab a few chairs that he positioned beside each other and in front of the plasma while the assortment of snacks rested on his desk for her picking. "McGee taught me how to use the plasma at one point," he told her quietly as he fumbled around with the remote.<p>

"This is what you do at work?" Ziva challenged him. Her arms rested in a crossed fashion over her chest; and though her face may have been read with a tone of disapprovement, she couldn't help but appreciate the evening he was trying to create for them.

He paused suddenly to glance left and right, and just for dramatic effort glanced left again. "Pretty sure the work day is over, Zee-vah." He drew out her name and it brought a strange sensation to his lips. He wanted to say it again and again just to hold onto the feeling but refrained. "And you know what we, Americans, do on a Thursday night."

"You get excessively drunk, yes?"

A throaty laugh naturally escaped him, his lips landing in smirk formation at the very end. "Well, I was actually going to suggest a movie but we can do that too." His coy response was met with one of her unexpected smiles, rare and oh so captivating.

"I am not a – "

"A movie person, I know. But you can't say no to Brad Pitt, right?" He declined any of her forth-coming protests she may have been conjuring up in her mind by diving into his desk drawer to fish out the feature of the evening. "Ah," he nodded to himself once his fingers unclasped the DVD box to check that the disk was indeed inside. "Sometimes McGoo likes to hide my prized possessions, but Angelina Jolie is _right _here." He all but hugged the case before retrieving the disk.

Ziva tilted her head slowly over to the left, eyes narrowing into a thin line as she studied his words. "You keep Angelina Jolie in your drawer?" She finally drew out the question. Her lips slightly parted in confusion, not understanding whether he was exhibiting a strange American custom behavior or whether it was something that went above her head. With her luck since she'd moved from Israel's confines and to the States, it would be both.

He stared at her quietly before responding. Was she real? He'd always been pleasantly challenged with her remarks, but this was a whole new playing field. She was surely mocking him. Before responding Tony crouched down to set the disk in, elbows balancing on his bent knees. "You're jerking my chain, right?" He wondered over his shoulder and she returned a quizzical stare in turn. "Right," he reminded himself of her lack of connection with American culture. "We'll work on that," he promised the un-amused foreign operative in front of him.

The DVD player accepted the disk willingly, displaying copyright laws in seconds' time on the government owned screen. Tony pulled himself up into normal formation and adjusted the hoodie around his neck before moving toward the little seating area he had set up for the two of them. Ziva was still standing behind the two chairs when he settled into one and padded the other. "Tell me about it," she allowed skeptically before proceeding to take a seat beside him. A hand reached for a cheesy covered snack while she waited for his Oscar winning speech that was about to grace her ears.

"Well, Angelina Jolie," he began. "She was born in L.A. and she was just seven years old when she got a small part in "Lookin' To Get Out" in 1982. But her career really began in 1993 when she took a part in "Cyborg 2", and her first leading role in a major film was "Hackers". It was a cyber thriller; you might like it actually. And she's really – "

She rolled her eyes, chewing on a few crackers to drown out his rant. "Tony."

He looked over at her then and offered her an innocent smile, assisted by his best try at a pair of puppy dog eyes. "_Oh_, you mean Mr. and Mrs. Smith. This movie is going to knock your socks off, Ms. Da-veed," a pause. " That's another idiom," he forewarned.

"I understand why Gibbs resorts to slapping you around now, but do go on." The Israeli – ridiculously – decided to give him the benefit of a doubt. She'd learn to regret it later.

Knowing he had her full attention now, Tony sat up a bit straighter. He ignored the snacks and soda for the time being – giving Ziva a film lesson was far more important than food and drink at the moment. Movies always came first, aside from attractive women and the hot nights he often spent with them. "Brad and Angelina play skilled assassins working for different agencies but they don't know it," she watched him get a little too giddy at the first sentence. It must have been one of his favorites. "They're the best in their field, and they're ultimately assigned to eliminate the other. I think this might be just your cup of tea," he grinned teasingly over at her. But, oh, how right he was. "Can't take the assassin out of the girl, right? You didn't even flinch when I almost shot your brains out that morning at Chris' place."

She studied him quietly, lips parted then closed before the pattern repeated. "I suppose not," Ziva shared ultimately. Choosing not to elaborate, she twisted her body back into the most comfortable position that favored the screen. Her fingers brought up a few more crackers into her mouth and settled her legs over the edge of Tony's desk. He took that as his cue to press play, settling the remote behind him on Gibbs' desk when the main feature began to play.

Tony had stopped counting at twenty; he had seen the movie so many times that every line and every emotion with which it was said was engrained in his memory forever. Luckily, it wasn't the worst film to taint his brain with.

They consumed the popcorn and chips in silence, amidst the slurps, up until the movie revealed John and Jane's first encounter with each other on the job of taking out a DIA prisoner by the name of Benjamin Danz. Ziva turned to him then, a small empty bag previously filled with crackers and teeth chewing on a straw. "You're obsessed with movies," it was more of a statement than a question.

"You're a genius," the Italian mimicked her remark from earlier in the evening. His gaze fell upon her for a brief moment before he forced his eyes back onto the screen. She was more captivating than Angelina Jolie on any day of the week, and it was one of the hardest things he'd ever had to do. Looking away was not as easy as everyone always made it out to be. Forget. Move on. No, it was never that easy.

Her brown eyes remained on him, taking in his indescribable love for such a thing as film. "What made you fall in love with them?"

Tony was taken aback then; but again, he shouldn't have been. Though they did not know each other as much as they could've, Ziva had already shared a huge part of her life with him – a part that he knew Chris didn't know about. He decided, for once in his life, that he should grant someone the same amount of respect. "My mother," he found himself saying. "She died when I was eight."

Ziva stared back with a parted lip; she had not expected that they'd have something so personal in common. Though Ziva did not lose her mother at such a young age like Tony, she felt as though she had once her parents separated. Things were always hard and before she knew it Ziva had turned to Mossad, Tali was dead, and her mother was gone. "I am sorry, Tony." _I should not have asked._ She lowered her eyes, regretting bringing up the topic. Losing a mother was difficult for anyone.

He shook his head, indicating that it was alright. He did not retreat, knowing that it was probably good to share. He didn't owe her that, but it felt right. He felt safe, and they had stopped watching the movie all together by that point. "My mom," he gulped. It had been quite some time. "She took me to the movies a lot before she died. It was our thing," he supplied the appropriate air quotes and Ziva briefly smiled. "I guess my love for film comes from her; she just always escaped in them."

"An escape," the Israeli repeated with an almost unnoticeable nod. She understood. She wanted to tell him about her mother too – about how she was the strongest person she knew and how she always grew up thinking she wanted to be like her. She wanted to tell him how she'd lost everyone important in her life and was running from the only 'important' person left for a year now. From him, from her past, and potentially her destined future. But she decided against it; he didn't deserve for her to take this moment away from him. She could see in his sparkling eyes how difficult it was for him to let her into that secret past.

"Sorry," he let out a weak laugh that dissipated into the cool air of the office quicker than it took for him to say the word itself. "Wrong subject for an action comedy."

She stopped him, wrapping her fingers around his arm. She hesitated in drawing back, licking her lips before choosing her words wisely. "Mothers are never the wrong subject." It sounded cheesy for someone like her, but felt fitting. Ziva watched Tony relax at her words, a shade of brightness coming back to his face. He let out an appreciative smile and she returned the gesture.

Their sweet moment took a backseat to the film once it got to the real good parts – the shooting and the fighting. Ziva's favorite, just as DiNozzo had guessed before pressing PLAY. He could've swore he saw her eyes sparkle in a particular way when the plot reached the point at which the Smiths decided to fight together to preserve their marriage. Tony and Ziva watched as the pair kidnapped Danz from his high security prison in order to give their employers something they want more than themselves. The further the plot moved, the more Ziva switched positions. Her growth in interest became more interesting than the film itself and Tony caught himself smirking at her now and then. The unpredictable Mossad officer turned American federal security officer was a sucker for assassin movies. If he had a dollar for every time that panned out.

She was just about to ask him a question when the elevator dinged in arrival. Tony glanced at his watch – confused – and then peaked over his shoulder. It was too late for visitors at the agency. A man in somewhat of a hurry rushed out, glancing around to find his Italian friend of too many years to count. "Tony!" His voice rose in search of the federal field investigator. He spied the man immediately and hurried over, both hands on his hips. "I've been trying to call Ziva for hours. You must have some secret agent software to – "

Chris stopped at the front entrance of the bullpen, met with a sitting but confused Ziva and Tony in standing position since he had just waved him over. "You've got to be kidding me," his voice was low at first – too shocked. "I've been trying to reach you for hours!" His claim ended in a yell and Ziva's shoulders jerked at the sound.

"Chris," she breathed. "I never got your call," Ziva tried to explain but it was clear that it wouldn't serve its precise purpose. She rose from the chair, leaving a confused Italian behind as she approached him.

He shook his head, a strangely chilling laugh escaping his mouth. "That's funny, because you knew that we had plans and yet here you are watching a movie and feasting on junk food with him." Chris nodded his head over to Tony who subconsciously pulled his arms over his chest and stared at the pair.

"They were not definite," she reasoned. Her fingers ran through her curls a few times so as to not raise her tone and volume to his. "I told you to call me and let me know."

"And I _did_," he rolled his eyes. "I've been calling you for over 3 hours now. Do you not think to even answer your phone unless it's the Department of Defense calling?"

The Italian stepped forward to foolishly intervene, "Hey. Why don't we all just take a breath and relax, alright?"

"Stay out of this, Tony." Chris looked over Ziva's shoulder at him and his stare was a bit too threatening. "I don't need you to settle my arguments with _my _girlfriend for me." Ziva pinched the bridge of her nose as she listened to them go back and forth, knowing that this was exactly the conversation they shouldn't have been engaging in.

She moved out from between them to grab her coat and settle it over her shoulders. Her curls remained buried under the wool collar uncomfortably, but their rapidly growing argument took precedent. Her fingers reached out to grab his wrist, as well as his attention, to draw him back. "This is not the place for this."

They stood in silence for the first time since he'd arrived then. Her hard and challenging stare brought down his anger, if only for a moment. It was not the place, indeed. "Fine." It was harsh. "Let's go."

* * *

><p>AN:

I hope this turned out okay! I didn't read it through before posting and it's now 2:15 A.M. Enjoy (and I may edit things tomorrow if I see it fit)!

Also, to **j09tiva** - the title of this fic was inspired by "Love Runs Out" by OneRepublic. I felt it somehow both inspiring and fitting.

Looking forward to hearing from you all. :)


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